


There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy

by sherlock221Bismymuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 16th century England, AU, Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, BAMF Anthea (Sherlock), BAMF Molly, BAMF Mrs. Hudson, Evolving relationships, F/M, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mollcroft, POV John Watson, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 17:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14753528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlock221Bismymuse/pseuds/sherlock221Bismymuse
Summary: This work is set in 16th century England where Sherlock is a renaissance man, escaping from being persecuted for the results of his scientific experiments. He is looked after by John and Greg. Many of the dialogues are based on real quotes and these will be acknowledged in the end notes in every chapter. Shakespeare makes an appearance (and uses Sherlock's love notes to write his own sonnets), Mycroft is mostly himself and Molly is a Queen :) The title itself is a quote from Hamlet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The magician and soul sister who is eloquated has made this incredible montage that just captures all the feels and intrigue of this fic. Thank you !!!!  
> Here it is :  
> https://eloquated.tumblr.com/post/180842100477/doubt-thou-the-stars-are-fire-doubt-that-the-sun

“Brother John come quickly there is an injured man” said One Eye Billy.

He was one of the homeless people Brother John had always treated kindly. The other priests also helped them when they could but Brother John was the favourite of the homeless because they knew that he was as sensitive and caring towards someone with the great pox as he was with the young prostitutes who had tried to get rid of a pregnancy or towards the sick child with gripes.

John had just finished with baptisms in the morning and then a long afternoon of prayer and was mentally fatigued but he got up at once and picked up his soft brown bag filled with cloth bandages, cotton balls and ointments and followed Billy.

Once they left the high walls of the monastery, Billy took John down the usual alley but then put him on a horse and said he would catch up with them on foot. The horse seemed to know where she was going and after a half hour ride John finally and gratefully climbed down next to a place which he had rarely been to. It was on the outskirts of London and he knew that many migrants, deserters, lepers and even some Jews and Moslem brothers from the Continent often found refuge here on Fournier Common.

As he got down he saw that Little Anthea was waiting there with a small lamp and he followed her into the dirty narrow path towards a small hut or tent where the injured man was obviously lying.

It was dark and smelly inside and he could see that there were rats scurrying about but the man had been lain on a wooden platform on a bed of hay and old clothes. Little Anthea hurried to light two candles and John could finally take a look at the patient.

Even in that poor light and in that stinking place, John drew in a sharp breath at the sight. He had surely never set eyes on a more beautiful creature of God. Pale with dark curly hair, a sharp nose and a regal brow. Lips like Cupid’s bow and long eyelashes casting long shadows on stunning cheekbones.

It took him a few seconds to gather himself and ask Anthea, “What happened to him? Has he been asleep or has he fainted?”

The girl just shrugged and went over to set some water for boiling on a makeshift stove.

John bent over and touched the man’s brow. He was cool to the touch so at least there was no danger of a serious infection. The man looked almost starved and hollowed out and when he moved the sheet covering him he saw there were cuts and bruises almost all over his arms and torso as though he had escaped through a thick forest at great speed. He held his wrist and took a pulse. It was a bit rapid and weak but regular.

By this time the man was fluttering his eyelids and attempting to speak, so John rested his hand on his face and said gently ‘Don’t worry Brother, I am a priest and I am here to take care of you.’

At the word ‘priest’ the man’s eyes shot open and he had an expression of sheer terror as well as fury and John moved back a foot. Something like a snarl escaped from the man and he held John’s wrist with ferocious strength.

 _"_ Hell is Truth Seen Too Late." he said and just as suddenly he sank back on the bed and closed his eyes.

John had been so startled by this that he did not notice that his hand was still being held by this mad man. He turned to Anthea and told her to bring some food and water for the man and gave her one coin with which to buy them.

While they waited he used a soft cloth dipped in the warm water to wipe the man’s face and neck and arms. This seems to annoy the man even in this weakened state but he allowed these ministrations.

An hour later when Billy had reached and John had managed to even get the man to drink some ale and eat some porridge, he finally asked him, "Can you tell me who you are brother? What is your name? How did you come to be here amongst these people?’

The man glared at him and said ‘I come to escape your kind O ‘ _brother_ ’ and he almost spat that last word out.

John thought he would leave the interrogation for later and his first priority was to make sure the man was treated. Something about the way he spoke and his haughty demeanour made him think that he was nobility and if as he claimed he was escaping other priests, maybe he needed a safe place to stay while he healed.

He tended to the wounds as best he could with the man glaring at him and not being very cooperative though he did not wince or utter a single sound of pain.

When he was done John took Billy aside and asked him what he knew. Billy shrugged and said, “Not much but he was brought here by Geffery who used to work with Squire Bartholomew. He said something about there being a danger and he said some may call him a heretic or a madman but he is a genius. I didn’t understand not half of what he was babbling. But I figured better to keep him safe here and then you could sort it out.’

‘You did well Billy’, John said and gave him a coin. ‘I must go back now and I will have a word with Custodian Gregory and find out what can be done for a safe house. In the meanwhile make sure he eats at least twice a day and drinks a pitcher full of ale every day. I will send a pigeon with a message for you’.

‘Awright’, said Billy. ‘Oh and I got this from Widow Hudson down by Baker’s Street. She said to put this ointment on his scratches and feed him this paste once a day.’

John had great respect for Widow Hudson’s medicinal skills and in fact he had used her herbal soothers more than once when his leg hurt him so badly that he could not sleep.

‘Yes of course, that was an excellent idea Billy. I must go now.’

And he followed Little Anthea outside and rode the horse back all the way thinking of this genius madman and what he had shouted at him and what the mystery could possibly be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reflects on the people in power in London and how he has come to be where he is.

London in the 16th century was rife with rumour and intrigue and power games of the worst kind.

John did not have much to do with the Palace directly but being an herbalist in the largest monastery in Covent Garden he saw and heard things which made him more aware of what went on in the great city.

King Henry Thomas was a good man but weak and his fondness for the hunt had given him the nickname ‘Tom the Meat Dagger’.

John had heard that the King Henry Thomas’s younger brother from his father’s second wife had been trying to make himself more powerful and many of those in the army were worried that if he succeeded things could become difficult for everyone since he was ruthless as well as clever. A dangerous combination to have in a ruler so no one really wanted to serve under the wannabe King ‘James the Seafarer’.

Prince James had taken to calling himself _Moriarty_ after his recent conquests in the Irish Sea. Several strange rumours floated about his cruelty and torture and his un-natural fondness for small boys but no one ever seemed to know anyone who actually had proof. Some said his nickname actually meant ‘ _small death_ ’ in French. Whatever the name, he was someone who struck terror in the hearts of the commoners as well as noblemen.

John had heard that Queen Anne Margaret (born in the House of Boleyn) was apparently very well read and thoughtful and kind. It had been an arranged marriage of course, since the nobility would always use a marriage as an opportunity to consolidate wealth or to trade political power. She had been married at a young age but he had heard that she herself sought to learn about herbs and medicine although women were not allowed to be physicians. It was rumoured that she had even visited a dissection room in disguise in order to understand what was inside the human body. However, despite these rumours she was well liked by the people as well as respected by the noble houses.

Whatever the truth in all these stories, John thought that of all the royal family members she sounded like a very interesting person and he wondered if he would ever have an opportunity to see her.

John had also heard whispers in the past few months of a new advisor who had been brought in by the King all the way over from Italy. Perhaps to advise him on matters of religion and war and justice and ruling a kingdom and all manner of such fine things as a ruler needs. Many people felt it was a sign of weakness but those close to the advisor said that ‘ _The first method for estimating the intelligence of a ruler is to look at the men he has around him’._

His name was Nicholas Machiavelli but of course in England the commoners had nicknamed him Mach the Crafty one, also known as Mach-croft and eventually Mycroft.

In the midst of all this intrigue and chaos and politics, John tried very hard to keep himself focussed on his pursuit of knowledge—both spiritual and medicinal. He recorded his herb garden details painstakingly in a large book using his given family name of Johann Gregor Watsonn. He had grown many families of green and yellow peas in the monastery garden and had found some interesting results. However he had not been able to deduce what that really meant and had only written down all the findings in his slow and methodical way. Perhaps someday he would study it and try to make sense of it.

He prayed regularly and sought peace within the words of the holy book and through discourses with senior priests at the Monastery. Brother Michael of Stamford had been one with whom he could share his doubts without fear of remonstration. Brother Michael had heard the calling at a young age and had chosen this life willingly but John’s path had been a different one.

His family had always been poor and when four sons had died one after the other within a year of being born, his father had been told that there was curse on them and the only way to lift it was to send the remaining son to the Monastery. John had obeyed him for he disliked his own father who was too fond of the bottle and he was actually happy to be away from him and in a place where he could serve and be useful and help people who had far less.

He did not always agree with everything he was being taught here but he felt that it was not for him to question it as a person of limited intelligence and education. _Surely those who wrote the wise words understood things better than he._ He wrote a diary as often has he could in which he wrote about these deep questions that troubled him and he also copied down wise words he read about or heard from others.

He had been wondering of late if there was any truth in the whispers about wise men in other countries who were starting to say that it was the Earth that went around the Sun and that the stars were so far away that they were also Suns. Some said that perhaps there was life after death and perhaps there was no hell and no heaven.

Such things puzzled him and worried him and he was never sure if he should speak during Confessional to thinking about these things when the reality was that he did not feel any guilt but real curiosity and even wanted to know more.

He had also come across some scrolls through Billy’s network which were written by Sufi mystics from Constantinople living in Fournier Common and he had found it fascinating that they spoke of love and devotion in such achingly consuming ways and never spoke of hell or punishments. They addressed God as their Beloved and spoke to Him as they would to a lover. _What was the nature of such love?_

It was these thoughts that were going through his mind when his feet found themselves going towards the area where Custodian Gregory lived and worked. He respected the Custodian as a good human being, driven by the same desires as his own, to be of service and to protect the weak. He thought of him as _being on the side of the angels_ and he smiled at his own fancies.

The Custodian oversaw a force of almost 200 Constables and Watchmen and also had the power to ensure justice and to punish offenders. He was one of the most powerful men in London.

It was a testament to his inner goodness that he had forged a friendship with someone as humble as Brother John. It was this goodness that John had appealed to when he had first had a case involving one of the homeless. His faith had been justified. Despite a brutal law passed 330 years ago that allowed the Constabulary to arrest, whip and even brand the homeless with a hot iron to say ‘V’ for vagabonds, the Custodian had always dealt with them with a soft hand and had even encouraged the King to show greater leniency and provide help to these unfortunates by opening soup kitchens and offering training houses to make them skilled for work.

So John knew that he was doing the right thing today by seeking a kind of asylum for this stranger whose thoughts would not leave him from one setting sun to another.

The Custodian had been busy signing scrolls and then locking up the seals but he ensured that when Brother John was announced he was given food and drink and a comfortable place to sit in the garden. Finally when he did come over, Brother John stood up to greet him and Gregory enveloped him in a warm hug.

‘Good to see you John, it has been many days since we had the pleasure of one of our discussions!’’

‘It is indeed so Custodian and I fear I have been busy with things that were not of my own choosing,’ John said with a small shrug.

‘Oh please call me Gregory when we are in private. I consider you my friend, one of my very few friends in this city which seems to be populated with more and more rogues, thieves and murderers every day. And that’s just in the Palace.” he snorted with laughter at his own joke. “Wish I could tell them _not my division_ when it comes to these powerful folk. They are the most dangerous as you may well know.”

John’s eyebrows went up a bit at this indiscretion but they were inside his home so he could speak more freely. Once they had drunk a glass of ale, he finally explained the situation to Gregory and asked for a safe house.

Gregory frowned a bit and said,” I had heard rumours of a man who is a genius and has been saying he has proof about the planets and the Sun and has been making deductions about the nature of the universe which run contrary to what our Church Fathers would have us believe. Think you he is the same man?”

‘I do not know’, said John honestly, “He would not say and I fear he is too tired and hollowed out by hunger and thirst to warrant a strong interrogation. I would prefer keeping him alive and well and then allowing him to tell his story when he is ready. That is my humble suggestion’.

‘Yes, yes, you are right John. Well I have a secret to share with you too. Queen Anne Margaret is, as you know, from the House of Boleyn which is my mother’s birthplace and we have been childhood friends. ‘Morbid Molly’ we used to call her for her desire to collect insects and dead animals and study them! Of course now that she is Queen I do not have such a familiarity but I have had occasion to talk to her often in the last few years and we have forged a relationship of much trust, which is a rare thing in the Palace, as you know. You may have heard rumours of her visiting the dissection? Well it is true and I helped her go in and out without being recognized. I have a feeling she may be able to help us with a safe house and if it is under her protection the Church would think twice before attacking the stranger. What do you say John?’

And so the plan was made and John would be ready to move the stranger in two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • “Covent Garden” is actually “Convent Garden,” which it was called as early as the 1500s for being the vegetable garden of the monks of Westminster Abbey. In the possession of several lease-holders until, in 1536, King Henry VIII seized the land as part of the dissolution of the monasteries.  
> • The name Moriarty is an Anglicized version of the Irish name Ó Muircheartaigh which can be translated to mean 'navigator' or 'sea worthy'.  
> • Gregor Johann Mendel was an Austrian monk who discovered the basic principles of heredity through experiments in his garden. Mendel's observations became the foundation of modern genetics and the study of heredity.  
> • Anne Boleyn was Queen of England from 1533 to 1536 as the second wife of King Henry VIII. In order to make this happen the first break between the Church of England and Rome took place. She gave birth to the future Queen Elizabeth I. She was beheaded some years later and the charges against her included adultery, incest, witchcraft and plotting to kill the king. She has been called the most influential and important queen consort England has ever had.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John ponders on his beliefs, meets the Queen and starts to feel the magnetic pull of a certain mad man/ genius.

Two days later John found himself on the same horse going towards the place where the stranger was being looked after.

As he rode down to the Common he thought about the nature of men and the power of belief.

_Why was it that he sometimes questioned his belief in God but felt so strong in his belief in the goodness of a man like the Custodian? Or the belief that somehow he needed to keep this stranger safe although the man had not even told him his name yet?! Why did he believe that his beliefs were worth acting upon ?_

Lost in these thoughts he reached soon enough and found Anthea waiting for him. As usual she did not speak but just led him to the same place. The room was still dirty but the man himself looked much better today. He looked at John and scowled.

“So you finally found it _convenient_ to come?” He said imperiously.

John smiled gently, refusing to get annoyed with this madman.

‘I had other duties to attend to good stranger. I see that you have been fed and looked after well by Little Anthea. We should move you tonight to a safe house’.

The man nodded.

‘Would you tell me your name, my good man?’ asked John.

‘What is in a name?’ he growled. ‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’

John looked at him and without batting an eyelid said “Yes, so perhaps you had best tell me your name after we have given you a bath”.

The man looked at him stunned and John thought he was going to hurl some insult at him, or even a shoe perhaps, when suddenly he threw back his head and laughed instead. John thought it was the most beautiful sound he had heard.

The man’s shoulders kept shaking with laughter and he said ‘You are a funny monk or should I say priest?’

‘My name is John. I have not yet been ordained’ he said, ‘Here take my hand.’ as he tried to help him off the bed.

‘Sherlock’ said the man, ‘Sherlock Holmes’ and gave him his hand.

As soon as their fingers touched John felt a thrill go through him and his brain seemed to glitch, showed him an image of the same man in a strange place sitting next to a cupboard full of glass bottles and bright white light. Holding out his hand to him while he stood there leaning on a cane.

He rubbed his face and thought he must be really tired today to be seeing such odd daydreams.

John rode the horse with Sherlock sitting behind him quietly, wearing a dark robe and hood covering his pale face and curly hair.

By the time they reached the safe house Sherlock was almost asleep and holding onto John around the waist to stop him from falling off the horse. John had to wake him up and then help him off. Some of Billy’s people were there and they took Sherlock in.

John rode the horse back to the Monastery where someone from Billy’s network was waiting to take it away.

The next day was the Day of the Lord and he was going to be very busy.

When would he see Sherlock again?

**************************************

As it happened it was almost five days before he could leave the Monastery but one day Charlie, one of the homeless who was also an informant for the Custodian, came for some ointment for an injury. When John took him to the cleaning room Charlie handed him a small white pebble.

So, when the dressing was done John packed his medicine bag and followed Charlie to the safe house. He reached after sunset and when he entered the house he found Sherlock, the Custodian and someone else sitting in the inner room around a table talking and eating food.

‘Oh come in Brother John’, said Gregory,’ please join us for a meal’.

Even in the dim candlelight John could see that Sherlock looked much healthier and his hollow cheeks actually seemed to have filled out. John gave him a short nod and a smile and sat down in front of Gregory. That is when he suddenly realized that the fourth person he had thought was another man was actually a woman in some kind of disguise. He just stared at her and then looked round the table for an explanation.

Gregory said softly, “John-- this is Her Majesty Queen Anne Margaret’.

John stood up so quickly his chair almost fell down.

‘Your Majesty!’ he said in a respectful voice and bowed low.

‘You may sit Brother’, she said in a soft voice. ‘Here at Gregory’s table we are all friends and you may call me Molly’.

John looked horror struck even at the suggestion but he did sit down. His brain was buzzing with so many questions. Why? How? What?

But the others had resumed a conversation they seemed to have been in the middle of. John served himself some bread and meat and ale and listened.

Sherlock was speaking. “So I declare to you that a human being is part of the whole called by us ‘universe’, a part limited in time and space. We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest. A kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us and our task must be to free ourselves from this prison. We shall require a substantially new manner of thinking if mankind is to survive.”

Molly said quietly, “But it is the knowledge of necessary and eternal truths which distinguishes us from mere animals, and gives us reason and the sciences, raising us to knowledge of ourselves and God. It is this in us which we call the rational soul or mind”.

Sherlock listens to her thoughtfully and says, “All arguments concerning existence are founded on the relation of cause and effect; that our knowledge of that relation is derived entirely from experience; and all our experimental conclusions proceed upon the supposition that the future will be conformable to the past.... Without the influence of custom, we should be entirely ignorant of every matter of fact beyond what is immediately present to the memory and senses.”

Greg replied with a proud flourish of his hand as if to tell John that he is introducing Sherlock to the Queen. “I do present you with a man of mine, cunning in music and the mathematics, to instruct her fully in those sciences.”

“Ah Gregory”, said Sherlock looking at him with a tilt of his head. “You make the mistake that all men do-- of seeing a woman’s quietness and confusing it with a weakness. She has more knowledge of the workings of science than you could hope to learn in ten lifetimes. Education begins the gentleman (or the lady), but reading, good company and reflection must finish her.”

And he looked deep into Molly’s eyes and smiled at her and she smiled back warmly at him.

John looked at them both and wondered again if he was dreaming. The mad man was smiling at the Queen as though they were long lost friends. And he himself was sitting here and having dinner with the both of them. He was having dinner with the _Queen_!! _This could surely not be real!_

“Gregory, it is time for me to leave before I am missed at the Palace.” said Molly. “It was good to see you Brother John. Sherlock--- please take care of yourself. We will meet again soon I hope.”

As soon as she stood up all the men rose and bowed to her and Gregory moved to open the door.

Sherlock stepped forward, took her hand and bowing low over it, kissed it and said “Your wish is my command! Sleep well my Queen.”

**************************************

Once she had left and dinner was cleared away, Gregory left for his own residence. John asked Sherlock if he could examine him and check on his wounds.

“By all means Doctor” said he with a smile. “But I fear that Widow Hudson’s ointments and creams have magicked my wounds away!”

So it was indeed and the healing was almost complete. John felt relief at that but also a sudden stab of worry that he would no longer have a reason to meet Sherlock. He looked at that beautiful upper body unclothed in front of him and drew in a sharp breath.

“So, do I smell better than a rose today?” Sherlock asked him slowly and with a wicked smile.

John blushed at being caught openly admiring him and said “Indeed good sir, it pleases me to say that the rest and food has brought improvement in your body and seems to have also made your mind alert. However, now I need to make godspeed back to the Monastery. It may be many days till we meet again since you have no need of my care now.”

Sherlock looked at him strangely and said,” So would I have to injure myself again before you would seek me out?”

John looked at him sharply to see if he was making fun of him but the man seemed to be genuinely curious. Once again a glitch in his brain showed him the same man, looking starved and ill, unshaven and dirty, sitting on the floor with a needle in his hand. He shook his head to make that terrible image go away.

“No indeed not my good man”, he said. “I am sure there would be happier occasions when we could renew our acquaintance in the days to come!”

“And would you like to?” asked Sherlock.

Without even processing what that question might have meant John said, “Yes!”

He was not sure where that certainty came from but he had this feeling deep inside his heart that he would never be able to say no to this man. He was confused and also a bit worried as he finally made his farewell.

When he was leaving, Sherlock came out with him to the edge of the courtyard, looked up at the sky and said “John! Don’t you ever look at the stars in the sky and think if there is any other Earth and any other Life and any other you or any other me?”

John looked at him quite mystified. He was beginning to feel constantly lost in the magnetic pull of this magnificent creature who seemed to have more thoughts and ideas in his brain than all the people of London possibly.

Sherlock looked back at him with such a focus as though he were the only person in existence and held out his hand and John automatically took it. He felt that thrill once again and a deep feeling of belonging. He felt like his hand had been empty his whole life and was meant to be exactly here, in this callused and warm palm with these beautiful long fingers holding him.

It felt as pure as anything he has ever felt during worship.

As soon as this thought crossed his mind, it troubled him again and his face must surely reflect his agitation.

He looked up at Sherlock and Sherlock said: ‘If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things. Goodnight John.’

**********************************

That night John was unable to sleep.

Conflicting emotions and thoughts raged through his mind all night long. It is not as though he had never touched a man before. As a healer he has had to touch so many men and in so many ways. He has never once felt the kind of flames coursing through his blood that he seems to feel every single time his skin is in contact with Sherlock’s.

_Is God testing him? Is Satan tempting him?_

He dreams of night skies and galaxies spinning around. He sees himself sitting in a courtyard with Sherlock and telling him "Hear my soul speak: The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service." And then he sees Sherlock move closer , hold his face in both his hands and lean forward to …….John wakes up terrified and with a rapid heartbeat. He gets off his bed, kneels down to pray and crosses himself.

This cannot be good. This is surely Very Not Good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • The opening scene is my tribute to the Electric Monk who rides the horse in Douglas Adams’ book ‘Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency’. “The Electric Monk was a labour-saving device, like a dishwasher or a video recorder. …..Electric Monks believed things for you, thus saving you what was becoming an increasingly onerous task-that of believing all the things the world expected you to believe.”
> 
> • "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" William Shakespeare's play Romeo and Juliet.
> 
> • “So I declare to you that a human being is part of the whole called by us ‘universe’, a part limited in time and space…….” Albert Einstein
> 
> • “But it is the knowledge of necessary and eternal truths which distinguishes us from mere animals……..” Leibniz, 1670. Leibniz was one of the renaissance men and contributed to philosophy as well is credited for developing infinitesimal calculus, a distinction he shared with Sir Isaac Newton
> 
> • “All arguments concerning existence are founded on the relation of cause and effect” David Hume, 1737. He was a Scottish philosopher, economist and historian of the Age of Enlightenment. 
> 
> • ‘I do present you with a man of mine, Cunning in music and the mathematics, To instruct her fully in those sciences’ The Taming of the Shrew
> 
> • “Education begins the gentleman, but reading, good company and reflection must finish her.” John Locke was an English philosopher and physician, widely regarded as one of the most influential of Enlightenment thinkers and commonly known as the "Father of Liberalism".
> 
> • ‘If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things”. Renee Descartes (famous for saying “I think therefore I am”).  
> • "Hear my soul speak: The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service." William Shakespeare The Tempest


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock ruminates on his life and times.  
> "In a time of universal deceit - telling the truth is a revolutionary act." (George Orwell)

William Sherlock Scott Holmes sat on a chair in the courtyard of the safe house, fingers steepled under his chin, thinking about what he had done and what he had yet to do.

For some years now he had been living in Rome and working on a tool which was as close to magick as ordinary people could imagine. It involved polishing some glass lenses and fixing it onto tubes which would allow him to look up at the heavens and deduce the movement of the spheres.

Five years ago he had succeeded and when he had seen the rings of Saturn and the moons of Jupiter and the pits and valleys on the face of the Moon, he had known that there was more in this heaven and earth than was being dreamt of in our philosophy.

He had spent manic days without much sleep or food, drawing maps and making calculations of the movement of the planets and studying old charts and had come to a fantastic conclusion.

_When we eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth!_

The **_Earth_** moved around the **_Sun_** and not the other way around.

It was the indisputable finding of his observations.

With the excitement born of a pure mind whose only goal was to seek the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, he spoke of this wonderful truth to all who would listen. He showed other scientists his papers and formulae. He showed noblemen his starscope and the rings of Saturn through it.

He even showed them the red planet and explained that those channels might suggest we would find _water on Mars._

There were some who enjoyed his stories and experiments, as they would enjoy art or the theatre. Nothing they needed to take seriously because how did it matter to them if the Earth went around the Sun or the Sun went around the moon?? As long as they had their silk and pearls and cake and wine here in Rome or Paris or London, the heavens could take care of themselves.

However, there were people to whom this _did_ matter. It mattered a lot indeed. And those was the religious fathers.

As more and more rumours of this mad man and his experiments reached their ears they realized that they needed to do _something_ about it. They needed to shut him down. Prove him a fraud. And if all else failed, have him found guilty of blasphemy against the word of God and make him _fall_.

So the conspiracy was set up and the persecution began. Slowly at first but as he continued to speak out and insisted that his was the truth and the only truth, they used different methods to get him to stay quiet.

The printing press invented by Gutenberg had increased access to printed books for the common people but there were those in power who could use the same press to print posters and weekly sheets declaring Sherlock Holmes a fraud and a heretic who was speaking against the word of God. Lady Sally and Lord Philip of the House of Anderson were particularly active in the printing of such news about him and the posters were being put up across all of Rome.

Small incidents began to occur which may have been random accidents but there was a pattern. His beloved dog Redbeard was found dead, drowned in a well. His housekeeping staff suddenly all left his employment. His closest friend Victor Trevor found his manor robbed and himself heavily in debt after a night of gambling. The next week Victor was beaten up badly by some debt collectors.

It did not take Sherlock long to deduce that those close to him were being targeted. He recognized that his own life was now in danger and he could not go to his grandparents’ estate in France either, for fear of bringing the darkness to their doorstep.

His father had been an English nobleman so he chose to escape to London where he had heard there were many great and wise and brave men and hoped that he would find shelter and sanctuary and perhaps even brotherhood among them.

His Roma gypsy network had done well to smuggle him to this city and then the little girl Anthea had rescued him and brought the priest to help.

At the thought of that priest he stopped and took a deep breath.

That priest.

John.

There was something about him which made his heart beat a little faster. His face was tranquil but the eyes were burning with so many doubts, so many questions. He had been captivated by him. His demeanour was gentle like a healer but his body was as strong as a wrestler. He had felt those muscles under his arms when he had held onto him that day on the horse. He smiled to himself thinking of how he had pretended to be sleepier than he really was in order to be able to do that.

The touch of John’s hand.

The hunger in his eyes when he had looked at his wounds the last day.

The ‘Yes’ which had come so promptly to his lips.

His lips.

What else would they say yes to?

It was a thought which was keeping his mind rather busy during these empty days.

.

.

He thought of the Custodian and what a sturdy and honest man he was. If this man was standing by your side, solid as a mountain, one would have nothing to fear from the evil and the diabolical. Gregory had spoken to him about the homeless and shared his concerns about their welfare. He believed that their poverty was hardly a sin for which they needed to be punished. He understood only too well the priorities that the law makers and the law enforces needed to have in order to maintain peace in a city as bubbling over with dangerous and criminal elements as well as the potential for unrest and fires and other disasters as London was.

If anyone ever wanted to know what a truly _good_ man looked like, here he was –Gregory, the Custodian of London.

And finally his thoughts went to the Queen.

Anne Margaret.

Molly.

That enchanting and sublime woman who was as intelligent and kind as she was elegant. As soon as he had looked at her the first day they met at the safe house, he felt as though he had recognized her instantly and it was obvious that she had felt something too. It was as though they had known each other over many lifetimes, in many guises and there was such a profound connection that perhaps even words were not needed.

Indeed, words would perhaps falter in conveying what their hearts had already heard. This Queen was indeed his _soulmate_. This was not a love that is talked of between a man and a woman and ends in a marriage. This was something so much more profound.

It was a love that had no name.

As though it existed from the time they were stardust and would exist till the last star in the universe had burnt away.

He knew it in the way his mind stilled in her presence and his very soul was soothed by its mate. When she looked at him, he knew she could see him in a way that no one else ever had been able to.

He belonged to her and she belonged to him in the way that the clouds belong to the sky, the rays belong to the Sun and the tides belong to the oceans.

Surely it was no coincidence that he was here today living in a safe house provided for by her.

He did not believe in coincidences.

The universe is rarely so lazy.

***********************************

He did however believe in himself and his experiments and the Truth. He needed to make people understand the Truth. He did not care if everyone thought him to be a fraud. But he cared that people were being fooled by the religious fathers into leading lives in the darkness; mesmerized by the dancing shadows on the walls of the cave but unable to see the hands which were creating them.

The hands.

He thinks of John’s hands. Those gentle, warm, soft hands that had cleaned him up on the first day and taken care of his wounds. The hand that he had given him as instinctively as a flower turns towards the Sun. And held as delicately as a vessel made of precious glass.

He thinks of the last time he met John. It had been more than a week since he had seen him, so briefly, at the safe house for dinner and he was getting restless. He had gone to meet Gregory, disguised as one of the homeless.

“My mind," he said, "rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants. But I _abhor the dull routine of existence_. I crave for mental exaltation.”

Gregory had laughed at him and rested a firm strong hand on his shoulder. “Quite a ray of _sunshine_ you are, my good sir! Would you rather I obtain for you some pills of laudanum or cocaine? Or,” and he stopped and gave him a shrewd look, “Would you like to join us for dinner tonight? Brother John will be coming.”

Sherlock had smiled at that. _Gregory was no idiot and had he really been so obvious?_

“Yes indeed,” he replied, “That alternative seems most admirable.”

“Good,” said Gregory with a warm smile in return. “Perhaps you would like to change your clothes in my chambers so that you look more like a gentleman but also that no one may recognize you easily? The Queen, the new Palace Advisor and a young playwright will also be giving us company for the evening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy (Hamlet)  
> • Water on Mars is of course a nod to the fantastic Doctor Who episode ‘Waters of Mars’ with the amazing David Tennant.  
> • The Great Fire of London raged in 1666 and may have been caused by a spark from an oven falling on a pile of fuel in Pudding Lane. It may feature in a later chapter!  
> • The allegory of the cave by Plato is one of the most famous passages in the history of Western philosophy. “Like the prisoners chained in the cave, each human being perceives a physical world that is but a poor imitation of a more real world. But every so often, one of the prisoners gets free from the shackles of sense experience, turns around, and sees the light!”  
> • ACD original: The Sign of the Four: “My mind," he said, "rebels at stagnation……… I crave for mental exaltation.”  
> • In 16th century England it was possible to buy without prescription laudanum, cocaine, and even arsenic. Opium preparations were also sold freely in towns on market halls.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another dinner party at Greg’s…. and it’s your usual suspects around the table. The Queen, Machiavelli, Shakespeare and our two boys. Guess who has worked magic in the kitchen?   
> Sherlock has a Mind Monastery. God is Truth or Truth is God?

With unexpected fastidiousness, Sherlock had changed into something much more suitable for dinner with the Queen and when she came in he bowed low over her hand and kissed it.

“A pleasure to meet you again My Queen”. He said.

“Likewise indeed.” said the Queen. “I am delighted to see that you look so well today.”

Soon afterwards Nicholas Machiavelli was announced. When he came in he saw Sherlock standing next to Greg and talking.

Introductions were made and Nicholas said,” Of course! I have already heard of you back home in Italy and I am glad to make your acquaintance. I hope that you can show me your deductions and explain to me what you did to make the religious fathers so agitated! You do have evidence for your theories I suppose?

“Indeed sire,” said Sherlock. “Indeed I do. Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations…….it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable.”

“That is more true than you would imagine”, said Machiavelli thoughtfully. “It is good to meet a fellow countryman though you probably owe allegiance to the House of Sherringford here in England do you not?”

“Ah, your reputation does you justice.” said Sherlock raising one eyebrow. “I had heard of your omniscience and I am glad that someone as powerful as you is here in this country of my refuge during such troubled times.” He made him a short bow which Mycroft returned with a nod.

Then Sherlock smiled and said with a twinkle in his eye. “And although you bear allegiance to the House of Machiavelli in the mother country, I do believe that you are better known as Mycroft in our adopted home?

He had received a thin smile in return. “You also have eyes and ears around the city it would seem Brother mine. Let us continue our discussions over dinner.”

.

.

When the Queen had been seated they had all taken their places around the table. Greg sat across the table from her, with the playwright and John on either side of him. Sherlock and Mycroft sat on either side of Molly.

John had been pleased with the seating since it allowed him to look at Sherlock openly. He looked magnificent tonight dressed like a proper gentleman, wearing a purple linen shirt with a deep cuff and some manner of golden silk cravat around his neck held in place with a ruby pin. His hair had been combed back and he also seemed to be wearing some rings on his fingers. There was colour in his cheeks and a flash of fire in his eyes and every time he lifted one eyebrow in disdain or in response to something that was said, John felt his heart give a little lurch.

Brother John tried very hard not to be distracted by thoughts of him as he said a short prayer to thank the Lord in Heaven before they broke bread.

Gregory, as the host, spoke first.

“Mr. Shakespeare here is a young playwright and I must declare that we have greatly enjoyed his latest play ‘A Comedy of Errors’. It is about two pairs of twins.”

‘Oh that sounds really funny!” said John with a warm smile.

Sherlock scowled and murmured. ‘It’s never twins’.

‘Excuse me?’ said Shakespeare.

But John had heard what Sherlock said and to avoid conflict he spoke up instead “I think he said-- how interesting”.

Mycroft threw a sharp look at John and gave a thin smile and the Queen coughed delicately.

‘So tell me Mr. Shakespeare’, she started to say.

‘Please call me William, Your Highness’.

‘Well, William then, what do you propose to write about next?’

‘I am working on a tragedy. A tragic love story of two star crossed lovers.’

‘Fascinating’, said Sherlock dryly and John could almost hear the eye roll in his tone.

‘This man here’, said Gregory, pointing his fork at Sherlock and talking to William, “He has some ideas about the universe and its workings that you should listen to. May give you some story ideas for your future plays!”

‘Yes, certainly, that would be most interesting’, said William Shakespeare enthusiastically.

Mycroft murmured smoothly, “And perhaps someday I could reveal stories of political intrigue that would make your toes curl Mr. Shakespeare’.

‘Already looking forward to it good sir!” said William cheerfully, eating the delicious food and drinking the warm ale. “But now I must ask --what manner of food is this? It is so delicately flavoured and feels like eating the clouds verily I do declare! Would I compare it to a summer’s day ……and then this pudding…….oh I could write a sonnet on it! Who has wrought this _magick_ in the kitchens?”

Sherlock really did roll his eyes at this and John laughed.

Then he replied, “Thanks to our Custodian I have many connections among the homeless and the destitute and the refugees since he allows me access to treat and look after them without trouble from the constabulary. I met one such man who had escaped from Italy and lives in the Commons now. He was being accused of a stabbing but we helped him out and since then he always sends these claypots filled with the food he cooks. ‘Take away’ he calls it.”

“Oh but this is genuinely amazing food!” said the Queen. “We should bring him to work in the Palace kitchens.”

She turned to Mycroft and said, “You would be happy to have some food cooked by your own countrymen for a change I am sure.” She smiled at him. “I know you are a connoisseur when it comes to food and wine.” and then she hid her lips behind her hand and mouthed to the others “And puddings” in a stage whisper.

Mycroft heard her and tilted his head and smiled, knowing that this was a long standing joke between them.

“My Queen!” He said. “It touches me to know that you would be so considerate of my needs. Yes it would indeed gladden my heart to have him cook for us and also perhaps for him to be living in a better place.”

“Yes that is true”, she replied.” After all one cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.”

 

“Ah, never were truer words spoken Your Highness. And which wise man has said that?” asked William.

 

“It is an anonymous quote William”, replied the Queen in her own gentle but firm way.” And for most of history, Anonymous was a Woman.”

Sherlock gave a sharp cough at this to hide his smirk and William bowed to her in chastised acknowledgement.

“So, what is the name of this magician in the kitchens?” Greg asked John, changing the subject.

“Angelo”. John replied.

“Ah, must be related to Michelangelo since he too is such an artist!” said William Shakespeare, kissing his fingertips.

John caught Sherlock’s expression of utter exasperation at such drama and nearly burst out laughing.

.

.

Soon enough, dinner was done with and the Queen and Mycroft needed to return to the Palace. Mycroft said that he would return with the Queen and offered his black coach to Sherlock and John to be dropped off to the safe house.

When the Queen stood up they all rose and bowed.

Greg and Sherlock walked her to the door.

As was his wont, Sherlock bent low, lifted her hand and kissed it. “Fare thee well My Queen.”

“You too Sherlock” she replied and then they were gone.

William also took their leave and Sherlock and John left from Gregory’s for the safe house.

The ride was quiet and both of them seemed to be deep in thought.

Sherlock had noticed how often John had been openly giving him admiring looks throughout dinner. He had also seen the quick effort John had made to reduce any conflict on his behalf by deliberately mis-hearing his comment on twins. He himself had been annoyed by John laughing at that playwright’s juvenile jokes and comments.

Meanwhile John was looking out of the window on the other side and was thinking whether it was all a wonderful dream and he would wake up any time now. This magnificent man sitting next to him, the wonderful Queen (the actual _Queen_ of his country), the food, the conversations……it all seemed too good to be true. He wanted to reach the house quickly so he could look at Sherlock instead of sitting next to him looking elsewhere. But he also did not want the ride to end because that would mean they would soon have to part.

******************

When they reached the safe house John did not take his leave immediately but sat in the courtyard, clearly reluctant to go away.

Sherlock brought out a bottle of ale. John was enjoying one more glass and Sherlock was enjoying looking at him, fingers steepled under his chin.

“So what do you think of that?” John asked him, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the steady gaze and wanting to divert his attention.

“Think of what, John?”

“The new advisor to the Palace? Mycroft?”

“Oh he is brilliant.” said Sherlock.” He knows too much. I think perhaps he keeps dragons as pets, probably starts wars for breakfast and captures kingdoms for lunch. Dangerous and brilliant. I would never want him to be on the side of my enemies…….And of course…” he said with a causal gesture. “He and the Queen are in love.”

John almost choked on his ale. “Pardon me??!”

Sherlock looked at him curiously. “You see but you do not observe John”.

He waved his hands around in front of his face as though mapping out a room.

“Mycroft obviously cares for her more than someone who is just in the employ of the King would. The way he stands with his body tilted towards her, the manner in which he pulled out the chair for her, the way he listens to her, looks at her, it is not mere chivalry. They sat next to each other at the dinner table as though it were the natural order. They clearly enjoy each other’s company, probably more so because the King is always out on some hunt and rarely in the Palace a few days a month. She knows his food habits and also _cares_ about them. She was _joking_ to us for heaven’s sake John. She spoke about not being able to _love well_ on an empty stomach. She was _flirting_ with him. And now they will be going back together to the Palace in the same coach. It does not take a genius to work that out. But neither of them seems to have taken it any further..…yet….”

“Amazing”, said John shaking his head. “Simply amazing. I would _never_ have worked that out. But then again I am just an ordinary man, living in a Monastery, learning to be a good priest.” He shrugged lightly.

“Oh John, you are _anything_ but _ordinary_ ,” scoffed Sherlock. “You read the holy books like an obedient student but inside your mind you question everything. You are a gentle healer but you keep yourself fit enough for combat with regular exercise. You are a rebel but you would prefer to avoid conflict. You are an _enigma_ wrapped in a puzzle.” He paused.

_Should he say something further or should he not?_

Then he continued. “You find yourself attracted to me and that terrifies you. You want to stay in my company and you want to touch me. But you hold yourself back. You fear for what could happen if you do so and yet here you are seeking danger----willing to keep me company when there is no one else in the safe house.”

John paled when he heard these words. He put down his glass of ale and stood up shakily. “Sherlock, I need to go.”

“No John, you cannot _run away_ from the Truth. I have run away here _risking my life_ so I can TELL everyone the Truth.”

“Well, Sherlock, I am not a star or a planet that you can measure and quantify and DEDUCE, for heaven’s sake!” said John angrily. “I am a man of God.”

“What is God John? You need your monastery for worship but I have my Mind Monastery which I can enter and worship my own God which is Truth. You say God is Truth but I think perhaps Truth is God? Come with me.” He says and takes John’s hand and practically drags him into a small room in the house.

The walls have been covered with drawings and maps and charts of fantastic things, and formulae and circles.

“Look at this!” Sherlock said. “In nature’s infinite book of secrecy, a little I can read. _Can you see your God anywhere on these charts? On these maps?_ I wish I could delete it all from my brain. I wish _I could delete the entire solar system_ and stop running away from those who would persecute me,” he said with a manic laugh. “But I cannot----- for it is the truth! It is burning my brain John” and he suddenly dunked his head into the basin of water there. “I cannot deny the truth any more than you can deny yours! There is no greater _agony_ than bearing an untold story inside you.”

John was shaken to the very core of his being by this display and the words but he said stubbornly, “To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible.”

 

“And do you have faith John? Do YOU?” Sherlock asked him, much calmer now, his mood swings a terrifying study in contrasts, running his hands through his wet hair.

 

“Do I have faith? In God?” asked John, perplexed.

 

“No John. In YOURSELF. Do you trust your own heart? Do you trust me?”

 

“I …I do not know Sherlock. This is difficult for me to think about. I have always doubted some of the teachings from the books but now I am no longer sure what is the ‘Truth’, if there is any _absolute_ Truth at all and if it will ever be revealed to one such as _me_.” said John haltingly.

 

 

“All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered John; the _point_ is to discover them.”

 

And with that Sherlock strode inside with a flourish and closed the door of the inner chamber.

 

John stood there looking at his back and then the empty room and slowly made his way out and back to his cell in the Monastery.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • “Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent……..” ACD original. A Case of Identity.
> 
> • “And for most of history, Anonymous was a Woman.” Virginia Woolf
> 
> • Enigma is my nod to Benedict Cumberbatch’s role as Alan Turing in The Imitation Game
> 
> • “In nature’s infinite book of secrecy, A little I can read.’ William Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra
> 
> • “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Maya Angelou
> 
> • “To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible.” Thomas Aquinas
> 
> • “All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them”. Galileo Galilei


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, Mycroft, what have you gone and done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback and comments are most appreciated !

Nicholas Machiavelli, named for St. Nikolaus the wonderworker, was not an emotional man.

If anything he was unnaturally calm and controlled. He had learnt long years ago that anger or a display of anger makes one weaker at the negotiation and that was something he would never be prepared to do. Negotiations were his life’s blood, whether they be among diplomats or soldiers, in peace or at war. It was the give and take and the thrill of the bargain that drove him, but of course finally it was the winning that mattered!

He knew what they called him in London. Mycroft. The crafty one.

To the _ordinary_ people it may appear as though he was crafty and manipulative and usually got things done the way he wanted them to be. But it was only because he recognized _patterns_ long before anyone else could. He saw patterns at the level of the individual lives and their dull daily predictable routine. He saw patterns at the larger level, like a bird’s eye view, wherein he could sense the way a King would rule given his past behaviour, or whether a General would lead a coup and if a Queen could be persuaded to trade one of her ladies- in- waiting with one of his spies (based on how unhappy she was in her marriage).

He used these deductions and patterns to predict and also to control how things would move and which pieces would fit in where. He seized opportunities where they existed and created them where they did not.

He was ruthless and driven and he did all this with the detachment of a man overseeing the building of a castle.

He could not cry over every individual brick which would be lost in the masonry. He could not fuss over every rose bush that needed to be uprooted to make way for the moat. He did not care if a turret cost too much to build if they needed it for a good view of the enemy approaching.

All he cared about was that the castle be built and the King be safe.

He played the game with the detachment of a chess grand master.

Pawns were meant to be sacrificed as were the Knights and even the Queen. Every move was meant to obtain a victory and all that mattered was to keep the King safe.

Thus far it had all worked fine.

Except now he also had a Queen he wanted to keep safe in the castle.

Except now this Queen had looked up from the chessboard and captured his heart.

Except now he wanted to keep HER safe above all else.

Very safe and close to him.

Very close to him.

Always.

And that was _extremely_ dangerous.

*****************************************************

He had worked for and interacted with many royal families and persons in his long career and he had not expected this job in London to be any different. King Henry Thomas was weak but a good man. Maybe he cared more for the hunt than the running of his Kingdom, but he was wise enough to have brought him in as an advisor.

Truth be told, he had been getting bored in Rome. The Vatican fathers were exerting too much power on the Crown. While he himself did not believe in God he recognized that religion was the opium of the masses. Without a religion that told them what to believe in and what to do and what not to do, the ordinary people would either kill themselves out of existentialist angst or each other out of anarchist despair.

He understood that. But he was restless. This offer to move to London had come at the most opportune time.

He had worked closely with King Henry and his council for a few weeks before he had the opportunity to meet the Queen.

She was elegant and warm and gracious—everything a Queen should be.

But she was also intelligent, well read, thoughtful, interesting and …even funny.

The first time she had said something funny and giggled while they were at dinner he had been enchanted. He wanted to hear that sound again. And again. He made every effort to entertain her that evening and was rewarded with two more fits of laughter, held back by pursed lips and a hand covering her mouth, but her eyes were merry and he looked into them and realized that he had fallen in love.

With his life being spent in political intrigue and among the constant dangers of back stabbing and betrayal, he had always told himself that it was safest and best to be alone.

Alone would protect him.

Emotions were a chemical defect found on the losing side.

But now it was he who was on the losing side of his heart and oh what a defeat it was. He would gladly be a prisoner of this war than have victory over his emotions.

What had she done to him? With all his craft and cunning and predictions and deductions, he had not seen this coming. He had never imagined it possible. And she had come into his life like an impossible girl (she was still so young in front of his years, almost an entire decade less) and now he could not even remember how he had managed to live before he knew her.

He tried to hide his heart for as long as he could. After all she was not just married but she was married to the _King_!!

She was the wife of the damn _King of England._

This could not lead to anything good.

Yet somehow it had.

**********************************

He had taken to seeking her out when she was in the library where she spent all her time when her royal duties were done. She read books and made notes and they discussed all manner of topics from astronomy to geography and from theology to cryptography.

He found it fascinating that she had such a thirst for knowledge. She herself knew so much on so many topics that he was sure she would give the wise men of the council here and in any kingdom a fair competition in any debate.

Although she never once said so it was obvious that she was lonely if not unhappy. The King was not remotely a companion to her but then that was true of most royal marriages. Her ladies- in- waiting were a vacuous lot and it was very unlikely that she had had anyone whose company she would seek out willingly besides Gregory who was known to her since her childhood days.

Mycroft regretted the way society treated women as inconsequential to matters of the state when it was clearly foolish to ignore fairly half the population. So he discussed with her matters of political philosophy and the economics of trade.

He invited her to join in when he had his first meeting with a small company that wanted to travel as far as India for trading in spice and silk. They called themselves the East India Company and were seeking guidance and perhaps some Royal support. She had been very interested (as he had expected) and had spoken to the men of the various spices and herbs that could make very potent medicinal brews, such as turmeric, cinnamon, ginger and others.

He had sat back and watched in absolute adoration as she held forth to these hoary businessmen who were clearly awed by her vast knowledge.

On some days he shared with her his concepts of an ideal State and spoke of politics as a science which could be understood with formulae much as a chemist or an apothecary’s potions. She had nodded at that and had even pointed out that it made more logic to have a formula system so that others could be taught the tricks of the trade.

 _Perhaps a London School of Economic and Political Science?_ And she added softly, “Where women and men _both_ can study?” charming him once again by her ability to be so persistently forward thinking as well as optimistic.

Then there were many afternoons when they both sat in the library in companionable silence while he wrote his book “The Prince” and she was putting together a “Compendium of Medicinal Herbs and their Uses for the Woman Healer”.

Sometimes he read out parts of his work to her and listened and clarified when she asked thoughtful questions in return.

He read out: “In the world, the proportion between good and evil stays unchanged. History keeps repeating itself again and again, even though people are born and die, their nature does not change. No matter how you choose them, people remain evil. In order to master the evil that resides in the unchanging human nature, we need an even greater evil, embodied in the prince, the state leader. As men are evil, people of goodwill would stand no chance as long as others are not men of goodwill as well.”

This pessimistic view of his had disturbed her but she had accepted that his perspective was coloured by his experiences with his Work.

He understood that she had felt disturbed because of her desire to find some good in everyone. He wanted to tell her that he would always protect her and keep the forces of evil away from her but sometimes he wondered if he were truly good either.

If what he felt for Molly (which is what he called her now when in private since they had truly become friends sharing intellectual companionship), if what he felt for her was ruinous for them both then the only way to protect her was for him to stay away from her.

But he simply did not have the will to do that anymore.

And dare he imagine she could feel something similar for his companionship too?

***********************************

It was a beautiful spring afternoon and the Palace was filled with the sweet smell of bouquets of roses and lilies from the Royal Gardens. Birds were chirping outside and the weather was perfect for moving around without a coat.

The King was away on one more hunting trip.

Mycroft had sought out The Queen and was shown into the library where she was sitting with the windows open, reading a large volume on remedies and cures and making notes on some papers.

She looked so beautiful in the soft spring light that his heart skipped a beat as it always did upon seeing her.

He had bowed to her and asked after her health and the book she was reading.

She had answered him explaining the importance of certain herbs in healing. She had shared with him, softly and maybe a bit sadly, her dream of wanting to be a physician but having been told that women could not.

“Maybe in some other lifetime.” she had said wistfully. ‘For now, this body is my prison.’

And he had responded softly and without thinking.

“I for one would gladly be your prisoner.”

She had blushed furiously at that but had looked him in the eye and seen his desire and wordlessly given her consent.

That night he had slipped through the shadows into her bed chamber and they had made passionate love and slept in each other’s arms till the early dawn and his heart and mind had been so full of happiness that there had been no place left for words.

In the cold light of the next day he had trembled at the thought that he may never be able to possess her nor again touch her nor be with her freely. Her soft lips whispering his name, the memory of her cool skin, the tenderness in her eyes, the faint traces of her delicate perfume, her silken brown hair that he had swept off her cheek as she slept on his arm. Every single moment had carved itself into his brain.

Now his heart was like a caged bird.

It sang all day and all night and fluttered and even dashed itself against the walls of the cage but there was simply no way that the doors could be opened.

Not only that but if anyone found out their secret it could mean the end of both their lives.

He could not think anymore and it mattered not him if countries were won or lost, if all Kingdoms ceased to be, if all armies were destroyed and if entire civilizations were erased through flood or fire.

All that mattered to him was a glimpse of the woman he had lost his heart to.

She lived in the same Palace as he did and she was near yet so far. He was like the moon to her Earth, or if Sherlock was to be believed, the Earth to her Sun. He would be in orbit but could never come closer for fear of destroying them both.

What was he supposed to do?

The thoughts and difficulties prevented him from falling asleep and after five days of this he had a pounding headache and his stomach would not retain any food. He could not bear to look at light and he had never felt so ill in his life.

When the Royal Physician’s medicines did not make any difference and Molly could no longer bear to see him suffer, she asked for him to be taken to Gregory’s house and she sent him word to call for Brother John.

She had learnt enough of political strategy from Mycroft to know that having him being seen to be unwell and helpless was worse than having him absent from the Palace.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Because of the many miracles attributed to his intercession, Saint Nicholas is also known as Nikolaos the Wonderworker. His legendary habit of secret gift-giving gave rise to the traditional model of Santa Claus
> 
> • To know more about the origins of the East India Company check this out http://www.victorianweb.org/history/empire/india/eic.html
> 
> • The London School of Economics and Political Science was open to men and women right from the start and welcomed students from overseas. “The special aim of the School will be, from the first, the study and investigation of the concrete facts of industrial life and the actual working of economic and political relations as they exist or have existed, in the United Kingdom and in foreign countries.” LSE Prospectus, 1895
> 
> • Niccolò Machiavelli’s work and influence in the world of political thought is such that many would go as far as to name him the founder and the father of modern political science. The Prince, published in 1532, became a constant reference and inspired different avenues in political research.
> 
> • “In the world, the proportion between good and evil stays unchanged……” From the book ‘Discourse’ by Nicholas Machiavelli 
> 
> • This one is a zinger. I was casually wondering if the BBC original character names had any symbolic meanings (Molly is not from ACD canon) and here is one I found. “Molly is a short form of Mary or Margaret. Hmm….ok. But get this –“Molly is also the slang for MDMA, commonly known as ecstasy and is a powerful psychoactive drug that produces feelings of heightened energy euphoria, and sensitivity to touch.”  
> Seriously?! In the light of those three slaps I have no idea what to make of this….


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John struggles with his mind and heart; Sherlock throws himself into his experiments; Mycroft has a migraine; Martha Hudson to the rescue.

The day after he returned from the dinner, John had been restless. He felt lost and confused and guilty.

Finally after three days of relentless chaos inside his head, he had spoken to Brother Michael about his crisis of faith. He had been advised a month’s retreat of silence and prayer.

John had readily agreed since the storm in his heart and mind simply would not die down.

He was quite certain that it was Not Good that when he closed his eyes in prayer he saw Sherlock’s face and that his waking thought was his name.

So he entered the monastic cell and vowed silence from one new moon to another.

He read and wrote and prayed every waking moment. He tended to his herb garden and he noted the rising and setting of the sun.

He tried very, very hard to forget who had caused the crisis of faith but alas, it was as though the man was breathing through his own lungs and entering every cell of his being through every heartbeat.

He could find himself no more able to forget Sherlock than he could his own name.

If anything, every day of separation turned the whispers of longing into a raging fire in the pit of his belly and he would wake up crying hot tears of despair at his weakness.

So it seemed like a message from Heaven itself when he was summoned by the High Priest and advised that he had been called by the Custodian. The High Priest was most displeased that his silent retreat needed to be disturbed but some calls could not be refused.

Thus it was that 3 weeks after his self- imposed isolation John found himself with his medicine bag in hand, outside the monastery walls, looking out for Billy. Instead he saw the black coach from the Palace and climbed in it rather intrigued.

However, the coach did not take him to the Palace but to Gregory’s residence. He went in to find Gregory waiting for him. He explained to John in low urgent tones that Mycroft had been suffering for five days with a pounding headache, sleeplessness and an inability to bear the light. He could not be seen to be so ill while in the Palace for any weakness was always dangerous and hence he had been moved here for treatment.

John examined him and decided that he probably had a serious touch of hemicranias or the _migraine_ and asked for Widow Hudson to be called in.

He was not sure if he feels a pang of disappointment or a feeling of relief at not seeing Sherlock there.

He waited for an hour till Widow Hudson reached. In the meanwhile he made sure that a cold compress has been put on Mycroft’s eyes and that he is sleeping in a cool and quiet room.

Widow Martha Hudson arrived with her mortar and pestle and a bag full of herbs and potions. She was accompanied by her helper Lucy Fillis who had been rescued from the Spanish slave ships and now stayed and worked with her.

Martha took one look at the man sleeping in the dark room with his head tied up in a band and cold compress on his eyes and pursed her lips.

‘Well done John’ she said. ‘It looks like a _hemicrania_ for sure.’

Then she went to the kitchen and brewed some herbal tea and asked Gregory to make sure that Mycroft would drink it every three hours. She also asked Lucy to prepare some poultices to be used before he slept for the night and a purge for the next morning.

Gregory looked rather lost at this long list and asked her if she would stay and help.

“Not your housekeeper dear,” She said with a sniff.

Greg then looked at John and asked if he would stay and help. He told John that he will send a message to the Monastery. John did not see any way of not accepting and agreed to stay there for the night.

They both thanked Martha Hudson profusely and she promised to come over any time they need her but she has to go now since she has planned to bake some cakes for her new neighbour Mrs. Turner and her family.

.

.

Some hours later after Mycroft has been given his tea and had the poultice applied to his forehead, John sat down with Gregory for some food and ale. After some discussion about the latest crimes and rumours, Gregory asked him, “So how is Sherlock?”

John was startled by this question and said ‘I would not know Gregory. I have been in the monastic cell on a silent retreat almost since the day I returned from dinner here.’

‘Hmm,’ said Gregory. ‘I do know that, but since you were clearly wanting to know but not asking me I thought I would ask you instead’, and he gave him a half smile. “Sherlock has been so busy with his experiments that he has not stepped out of the house since that dinner night either. Charlie said he has not been eating or even sleeping apparently. Now, I may not be a genius like him but I do understand people. Would you say it is a coincidence that both of you have chosen solitary confinements since that night?”

John did not know what to say to him and Gregory did not push him.

He just patted him on the arm and said, “If you need any help from me, you only have to let me know.” And he bade him a good night’s rest and went to the inner chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • I just discovered on a google search for the meaning of the name Martha and I doff my (imaginary) hat to Moftiss or whoever gave Mrs. Hudson her first name. ACD does not give her one. In the Bible, Martha was the sister of Lazarus and Mary of Bethany and known for her obsession with housework. ‘Not your housekeeper?!’ It’s too delicious :)  
>   
> • Migraines were very well documented from the 15th century onwards and called ‘migran’ or ‘hemicranias’ and managed with a whole plethora of treatments.
> 
> • Lucy Fillis is a nod to the fairly large black and Indian population of London in those times and my attempt to add colour to the very white reboot of Sherlock. Seriously. I love Rupert Graves but Idris Elba as Gregory would have been equally gorgeous. And Molly could so easily have been of Indian origin. Or Mrs. Hudson could have been Asian. And not in a tokenistic way either. You just have walk the streets of London or take the Underground and this is truly the reality.
> 
> • In 1597, Mary Fillis, a black woman of 20 years, had, for a long while, been the servant of Widow Barker in Mark Lane. She had been in England 13 or 14 years, and was the daughter of a Moorish shovel maker and basket maker. http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-18903391
> 
> • Shakespeare himself, a man fascinated by "the other", wrote several black parts - indeed, two of his greatest characters are black - and the fact that he put them into mainstream entertainment reflects the fact that they were a significant element in the population of London.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is one more dinner. William copies a sonnet from Sherlock. Greg suggests moving everyone to 221B. Greg is the best. As always!

After two days of Martha’s brew and poultices and quiet rest, Mycroft was significantly better. John was relieved to see that and made plans to return to the Monastery.

Gregory suggested he stay for dinner that night since Molly was planning to come over to take Mycroft back. John could hardly refuse him, so he stayed.

His heart knew why he had stayed and his mind refused to accept that reason.

_Would Sherlock also come for dinner? What if he did? What if he did not?_

Meanwhile Martha had arrived early that evening to take a look at ‘her patient’.

She spent some time alone with him and came out with her lips pursed and a very serious look on her face.

John was worried when he saw her expression and asked her if it was anything serious.

She said “Well it is but not in the way you think.”

And then she would not say anything beyond this cryptic comment.

******************************

Although Gregory himself was a quiet man, preferring his solitude and his crime scenes, he was very fond of gathering the precious few genuinely good people he cared for and whose company he enjoyed.

So of course the dinner party grew a bit in size to accommodate a few more guests.

When John came to the courtyard to drink a glass of ale with Mycroft (who was drinking a purple coloured herbal soother under the watchful eye of Martha Hudson), he was pleasantly surprised to find William Shakespeare joining them.

They spoke about how his new play was coming along and William was explaining with grand gestures and dramatic expressions about these two lovers who could not live without each other and yet could not be together because their feelings were forbidden.

He asked John, “What do you think they should do? If being together would mean death, would they rather choose life…. but not together?”

John has been thinking all along that this sounded exactly like his own dilemma and is so taken aback by this question that he can only stare at him.

Just then they heard a deep rich voice speaking at the door.

“Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no, it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wand'ring bark,

Whose worth's unknown,

although his height be taken."

 

John’s heart has already started beating on the double because he has recognized this voice and it is resonating in his very bones. He had half anticipated and half hoped that Sherlock would turn up at the dinner but he had underestimated the impact his presence would have on him after such a prolonged separation. His mouth went dry, his hands trembled a little and he could not trust himself to stand up to greet him.

Sherlock swept in after these words, in his usual imperious way, looking regal but oh so thin and almost haggard though his eyes burned bright.

William clapped his hands at the poem and said “Bravo, good sir. Eloquently stated! Whose quote is that?”

Sherlock looked at him most scornfully and said “It is of my own composition. You are welcome to use it.”

And then he turned the full power of his gaze on John.

“John’” he acknowledged with a nod.

Before John could collect his thoughts and figure out what to say Sherlock had moved away to the other side of the room to talk to Greg and Martha.

William went on talking about his new play but John could no longer hear nor understand since his heart was pounding in his ears and his brain was trying to shut down. How could he expect to win this battle?? Almost a month of separation and just the sound of his voice made him weak in the knees. A mere glance was sufficient to render him tongue tied.

_Heavenly Father,_ _send me a sign_. _Show me the way._

Just then the Queen was announced and they all rose and bowed. They went to the table and sat in the same way as earlier, including now Martha Hudson who also curtsied and sat opposite the Queen.

Once the prayer was said and they broke bread, Molly spoke softly and respectfully to Martha Hudson. “The Palace is indebted to you good lady for your herbs and brews which have lifted the pain from his head and brow.”

“Indeed, it was almost like magick”, said Mycroft, not knowing how dangerously those words would be judged in the future.

“I would like to learn from you if you would be so kind as to teach me,” said Molly.

To his own surprise John found himself adding "So would I, if it please you Your Highness.”

Martha Hudson chuckled. “Looks like I need to start a school of magic and remedies! Well, both of you are more than welcome. I would be honoured Your Highness. I live at 221 Baker Street. There is already a large room filled with the potions and cauldrons and you are welcome to visit any time that would be convenient for you.”

The ever practical Custodian was listening to all this and as was his innate skill, he set about trying to find order amidst chaos.

“I have also been considering moving Sherlock to a less obvious space where he could also be safe in the middle of people.” he mused. “Perhaps he could also come there to stay with you Mrs. Hudson and John could have space there to run a kind of sick room, so that people can come to him rather than him having to visit ten different places. What do you think? Then when Molly visits she can see the actual healing of people as well as learn the remedies?”

“Oh but that is an excellent idea Gregory!” Molly said with her eyes shining. She looked at John sitting next to Martha and asked, “If you would be amenable also?”

John found himself nodding since it did make logical sense. He was convinced now that the Devil was testing him.

_Why else would this wonderful idea of the sick room and learning from Martha come tied into the prospect of being under the same roof as Sherlock?!_

Sherlock in the meanwhile was looking anywhere but at John.

As expected, William rode into the silence in his usual hearty way and said “Wonderful! All friends gathered under one roof here and now we will have one more place where we can have dinner together! I too have been in need of a room to sit and write and perhaps you have another room there Mrs. Hudson?”

Sherlock looked daggers at him and said “I play the violin.”

“That soothes me” replied William.

“At all hours.” said Sherlock.

William just shrugged.

“Sometimes I don’t speak for days on end.” growled Sherlock.

“Even better!” William said with a grin.

And thus it was settled.

“Will you be needing two rooms then?” said Martha Hudson with a cheeky smile and was rewarded by an elaborate eye roll from Sherlock.

“Two it is” she said and Molly giggled.

“So now that that’s settled” she said, “William do tell us more about your new play”.

And so they had some merry conversations and good food.

*************************************

As everyone was leaving Greg looked at Sherlock and John thoughtfully. He had noticed that they had not said a single word to each other all evening and he had noticed their carefully controlled expressions. He had seen enough of human nature in all manner of fates and encounters and he recognized unrequited and even unspoken love when he saw it.

He had a brief flashback to his own life some years ago when he thought he was with someone he had loved but who had never loved him back enough. He sighed. These two needed an intervention. In every standoff one needed a negotiator and who better than him?

He asked them both to wait behind.

“Why?” Asked Sherlock promptly since he absolutely hated being told what to do.

“I want John to check on you. You look unwell”. Greg replied placidly.

“No!” Sherlock said emphatically. “I am perfectly fine.

_And anyway, the sickness I have he cannot or will not offer a cure._

“Wait anyway.” said Greg calmly and Sherlock sat and glowered at the room.

John sat on a chair as far away as possible and became more and more fidgety as the minutes passed. When he saw with a sideways glance that Sherlock had closed his eyes, he finally dared look at him properly. It appeared as though the man was burning up from the inside. He looked starved and tired and despite the dinner and good cheer of the last few hours he looked burdened.

John recognized that look. It was how he had been feeling for the past month too.

By the time Greg came back to the room Sherlock was looking exhausted and John was distressed. Gregory took one look at them both and said, “We may not be brothers by blood, but both of you are my brothers in spirit and I cannot bear to see you suffer. I see enough suffering and pain every single day on the streets of London. I see murders committed for jealousy, suicides for love, beating in anger. Life is nasty, brutish and short.” He paused. “And finding love is rare.”

He looked at them both. They were looking everywhere but at him.

He continued: “I know the law in our country forbids this love but I also know that the heart knows no law. Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take but by the moments that take your breath away…………But of course the decision is for you to take. I can only _show you the way._

I will send my coach to take Sherlock to the safe house.

Brother John-- he will then drop you at the Monastery. Thank you for all your help with Mycroft. I am in your debt.”

Greg bowed slightly and left.

*************************

His words were ringing in John’s his ears.

He had asked God to _show him the way_ and Greg had echoed those exact words.

_Was this the sign he had asked for? Could he trust it? Or was he now willing to interpret anything to suit his desires? What if he was wrong?_

Sherlock meanwhile had said not a word. If John had had the courage to glance at his face he would have seen his expression of poorly controlled frustration and burning desire.

They both got into the coach, without a glance or a word and sat as far away from each other as possible.

Sherlock had been dressed in the manner of a gentleman and as soon as they got into the coach he tore off the ruffled collar and opened a few shirt buttons.

“I hate such foolish restrictions”, he said.

_It’s not just the collar John. It’s these rules. These labels, these untruths. They are all strangling me……can’t you see?_

“Like a slow noose around my neck.” He continued.

When John turned to look at him, Sherlock looked at his white priest collar and said in a low voice, which was almost a growl. “I want to remove your collar too” and the look in his eyes was so hungry that John felt a tremor go through his body and he closed his eyes.

The coach had suddenly gotten too warm and felt too small.

“Sherlock please”, he said. “This is very dangerous and I don’t have the strength to resist you. Please. I beg you.”

And Sherlock tore his eyes away from him with every ounce of will power he possessed.

“Go then.” he snarled. “Stay away from me” and he jumped out of the coach and walked away.

John opened his eyes with trepidation, looked at Sherlock’s back, turned away in misery and continued on his way to the Monastery.

He did not remember how the next few days passed.

He had no idea what he ate, what work he did, what he heard and whether he said the Lord’s name in prayer or Sherlock’s in litany.

His dreams offered him up every word, every line uttered by this man who had swept into his life like a tempest and whose thoughts made him burn with desire and shiver in fear at the same time. They echoed through his mind hour after hour as night melted into day and the day sank into another night.

“ _Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds.”_

_“All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them’_

_“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you’_

_“If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things”_

 

He did not know what to think any more and he did not what to do.

He only knew that he could not go on living like this.

Something was going to give way and he no longer cared what.

 

**************************************

On the eighth day of his agony Charlie had come with a small boy asking for a wound to be cleaned. When John took him to the sick room the boy handed him a folded paper. John saw the looping handwriting and his heart started beating faster and he put it in his pocket.

He could barely keep his hands from trembling as he cleaned the wound and put the bandage. Then he found a quiet place where he could read the note.

 

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life;

and, if the Universe choose,

I shall but love thee better after death."

 

And then one line scrawled at the end of the page.

_Forgive me. Please don’t punish me any longer with this separation._

 

With this note, very faint resolve to stay away from Sherlock had disappeared like a puff of smoke. He knew with a certainty that there was no turning back now.

The cage was open. The path was beckoning. He would be a fool to resist any more.

Even if it was the Devil himself who came calling now, hell fires could not have greater fear for him than staying apart from this man.

This was the Truth.

Truth was his God.

 

‘Oh, Sherlock’, he whispered.

************************************

That very evening he finished his work and took his medicine bag and left the church yard to find Billy waiting outside. John could not help but be relieved that Sherlock had predicted him so well. He simply could not have stayed away from him a moment longer and Billy being there meant that the other priests would think that he was making a medical call.

Billy discretely left when they reached close to the lane of the safe house and just said ‘Two hours Brother John’ and nodded and disappeared in the shadows.

John went into the residence and heard strains of a violin being played so beautifully that he was mesmerized. He went down the passage and the music grew louder and when he reached the room he just stood there, stunned by the sight of Sherlock, his face glowing in the yellow lamplight, his eyes closed and an expression almost of ecstasy on his face.

Sherlock must have heard him because he stopped playing and opened his eyes.

‘John’, he said almost in a whisper and put his violin down. “You came.”

It seemed like he was going to step forward but he stopped himself.

John also hesitated, still fearful of closing the distance between them.

“That music,” he said softly. “It was so beautiful.”

“Music is my refuge. I crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.”

John’s heart almost broke when he heard that.

Just then he heard the bells of the Church of St Raphael ring out.

Eight bells tolled.

He was not sure if it was he who moved or it was Sherlock or both, but before the last bell rang out they were in each other’s arms kissing each other as passionately as though their lives depended on it.

John was almost crushed by the arms around him and his own hands were holding Sherlock as though otherwise they would be swept away in a cyclone and he had to keep him safe.

Sherlock pushed him against the wall and held him and they kissed and kissed until John could no longer remember where he ended and where his lover began.

‘Oh Sherlock’, said John as he wrenched himself apart after a few minutes, his lips swollen and red , his eyes bright, his breath rapid and shallow. He still needed to be the sensible one. ‘I cannot…we cannot…this is wrong.’

‘No John!’ said Sherlock, his eyes blazing. ‘How can something that feels so….divine …so beautiful….how can it be wrong?’

‘Sherlock, the Bible says that such love between a man and a man is a sin. The King has ordered a death sentence for buggery. Surely you have the knowledge of this law’.

‘Ugh’, said the man tugging at his hair as though he would pull it out from the roots. ‘I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies, but not the madness of people’.

John said slowly and in a voice heavy with deep emotions. ‘It tears my brain into pieces to wonder---- if I would rather be alive but staying away from you and keep you safe or know you fully through my mind and body and die knowing you, for what better death could I hope for? But that is not wise, my love. I cannot allow your life to be put in danger. You have so much to offer this world and to all humans. We cannot ….please” he was pleading.

Sherlock held him roughly by both his arms and gazed deeply into his eyes.

‘You called me _your love_ ’, he said in a fierce whisper. ‘Tell me I did not imagine those words leave your lips?’

‘No indeed you did not imagine it my love. _I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest._ When I pray it is _your_ name that come to my lips. When I sleep it is _your_ dreams that I see. With every breath I think of _you_. With every glance I search only for _you_."

‘Oh John’, said Sherlock as he planted softer kisses again and again on those beautiful lips that had declared their love.

When he broke off John looked at him and said. ‘I am but an ordinary man and I have no expectations that you would be of the same heart but…….’

“Hush!” said Sherlock putting his finger on John’s lips. ‘Never ever imagine that John! Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But _never_ doubt I love.”

 

And then there were really no more words needed, no further declarations of love and no seeking of assurances. He took John’s hand and led him to the inner chambers where they explored each other’s bodies and gave of each other completely and with abandon and passion till the very earth beneath them moved and they saw the galaxies themselves spin around them.

Much later as he lay on the bed with his lover’s head resting on his chest, his hands moving through those soft curls, John had a confession to make. “The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind I was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.”

Sherlock traced his lips with his finger and said "That is true my beloved. Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies." He gave a wicked smile and licked his lips. “And I am not complaining that I get to feast upon this gorgeous body of yours!”

Then the spell was broken and John laughed and wondered as he did, about what he could possibly have done to be granted the overwhelming joy and the unending magic that was this amazing man-- this genius, this musician, this scientist, philosopher, poet, lying here in his arms, speaking such words of love and passion.

He suddenly felt a twist of fear in the pit of his stomach. _What would he do if he were ever separated from this man?_ He could not imagine being able to live without him any more than he would if someone physically reached into his ribcage and tore out his heart.

He kissed Sherlock fiercely and said “Mine. You are mine!”

And Sherlock looked at him and smiled softly and said “Always my love. Always and forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • “Love is not love, Which alters when it alteration finds.” Shakespeare Sonnet 116
> 
> • There are many theories which explore the possibility that Shakespeare did not write the plays attributed to him. Well we know a genius who may have helped  http://www.bbcamerica.com/anglophenia/2011/10/did-shakespeare-really-write-his-plays-a-few-theories-examined
> 
> • King Henry VIII passes the Buggery Act 1533 making all male-male sexual activity punishable by death. The lesser offence of "attempted buggery" was punished by two years of jail and often horrific time on the pillory.
> 
> • “Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take but by the moments that take your breath away”. Maya Angelou
> 
> • Life is nasty, brutish and short. Thomas Hobbes (1588 – 1679), was an English philosopher who is considered one of the founders of modern political philosophy.
> 
> • Litany is a repetitive series but is also something recited by the clergy and responded to in a recurring formula by the people.
> 
> • “How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43) Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806 – 1861. I edited the last two lines to change ‘God’ to ‘Universe’ just to keep it in line with Sherlock’s beliefs! 
> 
>  
> 
> • “Music is my refuge. I crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.” Maya Angelou
> 
> • Saint Raphael is an Archangel. He is the patron saint of happy meetings and love, among other things. Many single people ask St. Raphael to lead them to their future spouses.
> 
> • ‘I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies, but not the madness of people’. Isaac Newton
> 
> • “I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest." William Shakespeare. Much Ado about Nothing 
> 
> • ‘Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move;  
> Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love’. Hamlet
> 
> • “The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind I was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.” Rumi
> 
> • "Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies." Aristotle


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week later Sherlock and William had moved into 221B Baker Street with Martha Hudson. Molly and John visit. Things are said which are echoes from other lifetimes.

Martha Hudson revealed that her ground floor room was already a sick room and she had not wanted to contradict Gregory. However John was welcome to drop in once a week on a planned day and it would be of great help to her.

John wondered how he had gone from believing this was the Devil’s work to this being a heavenly blessing that he could now meet Sherlock regularly. One day soon after he and Molly both found themselves travelling to Baker Street. She spoke to him about herbs and apothecaries and spices and he found himself enjoying the discussion and sharing with her the findings from his herb garden.

They spent some happy hours learning about different brews and potions from Martha and that evening they all sat down to a hot dinner cooked by Lucy.

Of course William and Sherlock joined them.

“Welcome to Two Two One B!” said William to them with a dramatic flourish.

“To be or Not to Be that is the question in fact”, said Sherlock sardonically. “The final problem. Staying alive.”

“Oh but that is brilliant phrase!!” said William. “Can I use it in one of my plays?”

‘Yes by all means.” replied Sherlock and pointed to his own head. ‘There are more things in this heaven and earth my friend than are dreamt of in your philosophy’.

John looked at him and beamed in joy. _His brilliant and beautiful lover. His. Only his._

******************************

During dinner William talked about his new play and shared that he had decided to call it Romeo and Juliet- the story of star crossed lovers. He spoke about the tragic ending where he wanted to have Juliet somehow escape but Romeo does not realize what has happened and kills himself in sorrow.

John though it sounded too awful and terrible for words and vowed mentally never to go see it.

Sherlock looked at William with interest for the first time that evening and said “Well she could stage a fake death and Romeo does not realize that it is just a trick, _a magic trick_ , and he kills himself. There is a flower which can be used to make a sleeping drug that will make her seem dead.”

John looks at him stunned. “Why would you know this?” He blurts out.

“It may come in handy.” Sherlock says with a shrug. “Sometimes one may have to fake one’s death to save a beloved. Or to save oneself _for_ the beloved. _It’s just a trick John. A magic trick_ ” and somehow John feels a heaviness deep in his heart as though he has heard these words in some lifetime and it has been Very Much Not Good.

His brain glitches and he see someone falling off a roof. A very long way down. He gives a sudden gasp.

William is meanwhile scribbling notes very rapidly.

“Are you alright ?” Martha asks John.

John nods to her but continues to look at Sherlock and says, “It would be a sin to take one’s own life.”

Sherlock flicks an imaginary speck off his sleeve and says to no one in particular: _“_ _Taking your own life_ _.” Interesting expression. Taking it from who? Oh, once it’s over, it’s not you who’ll miss it. Your own death is something that happens to everybody else. Your life is not your own.”_

_Molly has been listening with great interest._

"I am no Hindu, but I hold the doctrine of the Hindus concerning a future state of rebirth to be incomparably more rational, more pious, and more likely to deter men from vice than the horrid opinions inculcated by Christians on punishments without end."

Martha Hudson nods her head in agreement. “Socrates had said "I am confident that there truly is such a thing as living again, that the living spring from the dead, and that the souls of the dead are in existence."

Sherlock snorts in derision. “Everybody dies. It’s the one thing human beings can be relied upon to do. How can it still come as a surprise to people?”

William interrupts them suddenly. “This is simply brilliant Sherlock! You have helped me with the most dramatic ending. In this play the themes of love, marriage, life, and death will be intertwined. _Juliet must appear to die_ in order to share her life with her husband. Romeo and Juliet's love has transcended the hollow concerns of the other mortal players.”

Sherlock shakes his head and says “Deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.”

Martha Hudson looked at all of them gravely and she knows that something has been said in this conversation that was going to affect them all for many lifetimes to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • “To be or Not to Be”. William Shakespeare’s Hamlet.  
> •  
> • “Taking your own life.” Interesting expression. Taking it from who? Oh, once it’s over, it’s not you who’ll miss it. Your own death is something that happens to everybody else. Your life is not your own. Sherlock Holmes. The Lying Detective. BBC
> 
> • "I am no Hindu, but I hold the doctrine of the Hindus….."The Third Anniversary Discourse, on the Hindus" (1786) William Jones.
> 
> • “Everybody dies. It’s the one thing human beings can be relied upon to do. How can it still come as a surprise to people?” Mycroft Holmes, The Lying Detective. BBC
> 
> • Romeo and Juliet: The plan Friar Laurence concocts is to place Juliet in a deathlike state so that she may emerge from the tomb later to be reunited with her husband. The Friar describes the dual qualities of the flower that is capable of healing yet has the power to act as a poison. The drug the Friar offers Juliet is compounded of opposites and will give Juliet the appearance of death so that she can regain her life and her love.  
> So… uh, just like Molly, Sherlock and John then…..
> 
> • “Deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.” Oscar Wilde


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a kaleidoscope of random pieces. Shake it up to see the patterns. Baker Street, City of London Custodian, Palace intrigues. Trigger warning for child abuse mentioned briefly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have revised the chapter count to untangle all the plot lines satisfactorily ! The muse is taking me down some really dark tunnels, so keep your arms in for this bumpy ride!! There does seem to be light at the end of the tunnel....

**At Baker Street:**

Martha Hudson is a busy woman. She is also a wise woman and has hidden her colorful past in the most obvious way. The best deception is one which is based on the truth. She has no husband and no children so she is a childless widow. Sorted.

What no one knows is that she never had a husband. And she never wanted children.

She has been born with a gift and like her mother before her, she is an oracle and has always been able to predict with some accuracy what was going to happen.

_What we call premonition is just movement of the web. If you could attenuate to every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable, as inevitable as mathematics._

Of course some things were so obvious that it did not need special powers to deduce. Mycroft was love sick for Molly hence the migraines. Sherlock and John were in love. William had been making eyes at Lucy and flirting hard but she was too smart to fall for that.

And she, Martha Hudson, was finally at peace since all those she was meant to protect had finally found their way to her.

Just as she had predicted and not a day too soon.

Winter was coming.

_*********************************_

John has finished with his experiments with the peas and has started with keeping bees.

One day he arrives at 221B with a pot of honey as well as his journal on the patterns of green and yellow peas. Sherlock had pointed out earlier that the patterns in the pea colours as something which points to some _element_ in each parent plant that was contributing and he wants to show him the actual data.

While waiting for Sherlock to come out of his room, John looks around the living area and finds some papers on the table with poems written on them.

_Being your slave,_

_what should I do but tend_

_Upon the hours and times of your desire?_

_I have no precious time at all to spend,_

_Nor services to do, till you require._  


William wandered in just then and John said to him “This is beautiful, William”.

“Thank you,” he said and then had the grace to look awkward and confess. “Actually Sherlock has been writing them. He is pining away for someone and his violin plays tragic melodies. His pen writes these lovelorn poems. Whoever it is who is worthy of the passion of this genius does not know what he is missing. Here is one more:”

“Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom:

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved”

 

Just then Sherlock comes out of his room and John looks up at him and the blush on his face gives away the secret.

_This wonderful man has been writing these passionate poems for HIM ? What could he possibly have done to deserve such love?_

William catches the looks and chortles in glee.“Oh! So these are for you John! But this is more delightful than I could have imagined!”.

“Please do not speak of it William!” said John in a panic. “It could be dangerous”.

“Oh John” William replied. “Life is short, and we have never too much time for gladdening the hearts of those who are travelling the dark journey with us.

Oh, be swift to love, make haste to be kind!”

“That is not bad.” said Sherlock lifting on eyebrow. “So you do manage to write something original too.”

And all three of them smiled at the inside joke.

*********************

Thus the next two months passed by swiftly in the joy of learning and the sanctuary of love.

Every hour that John spent with his lover staggered him with the sheer force of the love he felt for this man. The overwhelming need of his body to join with him, nay even melt into him and become a part of his very being. He marvelled at the intensity and passion with which Sherlock loved him back and it seemed like a miracle.

It was as though his entire universe had contracted to focus only on this man and this love. He would gladly have spent every waking moment gazing at that beautiful face, touching that cool skin, making love as though he were worshipping the most holy.

If it were not for the forbidding nature of the law and the constant ache of fear that John had at such happiness not being able to last forever, he would have felt himself to be the very happiest and luckiest man ever.

One day when he lay with Sherlock after they had passionately joined their bodies and made love, he had hesitantly voiced his fears.

Sherlock had said to him” Maybe one lifetime isn’t enough to love the ones your truly do. How cruel it would be if this short life be all the chance we get for happiness in this world?”

John had looked at him in soft surprise. “I never expected that you of all people would espouse the absurd doctrine of reincarnation!”

“Well, the doctrine of reincarnation is neither absurd nor useless. It is not more surprising to be born twice than once.

After all, all the world is a stage and all men and women merely players.”

“Hmm,” mused John. “We just do not know who is writing the script!”

Sherlock looked at him with such adoration and said” Looks like I will make a philosopher of you yet!” that John felt this was indeed his paradise

and whether he had more lives or not this was one he would not trade for all the kingdoms of all the three worlds.

 

*****************************************

**City of London:**

The Custodian was tired. It had been a bad day today. After 20 years on the job he was used to seeing almost everything. He had seen murders by stabbing and strangling, fires, garrotting, grave diggers, corpses of young pregnant women fished out of the Thames, bodies of men with their heads bludgeoned in.

He found the strength to separate his emotions from his work and try to obtain justice and maintain law and order. He tried to work to the best of his ability despite the fact that most men in his forces were neither highly trained nor skilled nor even fully motivated. The pay was not bad compared to what they would get eking out a living as farmers probably, but the city of London brought its own temptations even to the door of the Constabulary. Drinking, cocaine, visiting prostitutes, a bit of money changing hands and look the other way….he knew it all happened and he was well- nigh helpless against it.

He often wished there would be at least one man on his force who was his equal –in intelligence as well as commitment and motivation. Someone who would stand by him on the side of angels. Someone who cared about justice even if he could not afford to care too much for the victims. He sighed. He was not a man given to flights of fancy but just this once he thought, why not hope? Maybe in another lifetime he may find someone. Especially on a night like this when the crime involved children.

He hated it when it involved children.

This one had been especially brutal. And it had not been the first. Someone was very sick in their mind and these cases seemed to be taking place more often with the bodies being found seemingly at random locations. So far all the children seemed to have been homeless or orphans since no one had come with a missing complaint, nor had anyone claimed the bodies.

He was at a complete loss.

Molly had noticed his agitation and the way he looked permanently exhausted of late and had asked him when they met the earlier week at the Palace.

They had spoken in the library, in private and he had told her everything, all the cases, all the clues (or lack of) and she had gone very pale. She had asked him to show her a map of London and mark the locations where the bodies had been found. When he had plotted them for her, she had had to go to the washroom because she was sick to the stomach. She had pointed out that all the body drops had been on the route of the King’s hunt road and near the other Royal Residences.

It was either someone at the Palace who was responsible. Or someone who wanted to make it appear that way.

She had immediately suggested conferring with Sherlock and they had sent a coach to bring him over. He had come suitably disguised as a merchant and had been shown into the library.

Sherlock had spent five minutes looking at the map that Molly and Greg had marked and said “James. Tell me more about Prince James Moriarty”.

And from the look on Molly’s face they both knew that she had suspected the same.

Gregory’s face had gone black as thunder. Later that night he and Sherlock had a meeting with Billy, Charlie and Anthea and discussed the possible ways to infiltrate the Palace and get some proof that would be useful.

They had to play this game carefully since not only was Prince James known to be dangerous and ruthless man, Molly actually lived in the Palace. No one must ever suspect that she had any role to play in this investigation.

************************************************

 

**At the Palace:**

It has been more than two months since Mycroft had joined her in her chambers and Molly has been feeling unwell in the mornings. She was no longer able to stomach her tea in the mornings and everything tasted bitter. One day suddenly she realizes the possible reason. She is filled with a feeling of dread and joy at the very same moment.

She is pregnant.

She needs a plan. A strategy. A solution.

She needs to share a bed with her husband in order to allow this child to be born unsuspected. She cannot really recall the last time she was intimate with her husband, given his frequent travels for the hunt and his lack of interest in such encounters.

But now it could well become a matter of life and death.

Three lives hang in balance. Hers, Mycroft’s and their baby’s.

With Angelo’s help she plans a feast where he serves all the known aphrodisiacs she has read about ----oysters and pepper, cinnamon, ginger.

She eventually manages to get the King to join her in the bedchambers and as she seduces him she feels a sense of deep betrayal of the man she truly loves and it takes all her willpower to not cry until the act is done.

Then and only then she allows hot tears to fall on her satin pillow.

********************************

For the next month she avoids Mycroft. It is not too difficult since the King is back and Mycroft is busy. But she also ignores him when they see each other at dinner in the Palace and gives express instructions not to be disturbed in the Library.

She cannot bear to look him in the eye knowing what she has had to do. She has not gone to Baker Street and she has not met anyone outside the Palace.

Greg has been working on his part of the investigation and he knows that they agreed to keep Molly out of the loop.

But now two months have gone by and even Greg is wondering if something is amiss and is considering making a visit to the Palace when a message arrives with a request for Martha or John to be sent for Mycroft. The _hemicrania_ has gripped him again.

Greg and Sherlock come up with a plan quickly. Sherlock goes in disguise as an assistant to John.

Anthea with her short slim build can easily pass off as a boy so they ask her to cut her hair and dress up like one and take her along too.

When they reach the Palace and John has had a chance to examine Mycroft and set up the preparations for the brews and poultice in the room outside his bedchamber, the Queen is announced.

They all stood up and bowed and she asked for her ladies- in-waiting to leave.

As soon as they left, Molly went straight into Mycroft’s room, sat next to him and took his hand.

She rested her other hand on his brow and at the cool touch he opened his eyes.

He looked at her with such distress that she could not bear to say what she has wanted to say and silently kissed his hand.

“What is it Molly, please talk to me? I cannot bear this punishment anymore.”

She looks down and says “It is not a punishment my love. I have done something. I _had_ to do something. And now I cannot face you.”

Mycroft looks even more agitated at this. “I beg you my Queen, my beloved, please tell me what you have done?”

“It was a strategy My.” She says softly. “Remember how you had explained the wild horse problem to me?

If the wild horse was loose and there are two paths it can go down.

One has one person and the other has five, who would you direct the horse towards to cause the least damage?”

 

_Yes_ , nodded Mycroft, almost beside himself with the pain and the worry.

‘Well that is all I have done. Nothing for you to fear or worry about any more’.

John and Sherlock had reluctantly peeped in at the door at this point to check because they could not wait much longer and just then heard Mycroft ask hoarsely.

“What have you done Molly? Please tell me”.

She told him and he wept. For the first time since his mother has passed away he wept and she held him till he stopped.

It is irrational since he _knows_ she is married to the King but he knows that _she_ feels like she has betrayed and he knows that it feels like she has sacrificed herself to keep _their_ baby safe and his headache is now blinding him.

“It was the only way to keep the baby safe, my beloved. You do understand that?”

 

Sherlock and John are still waiting outside not sure what has happened. Finally Molly calls them inside and tells them.

Sherlock listens and his heart breaks at her sorrow and distress and he feels so much admiration for her courage and wisdom that he has no words with which to express them. He holds her hand, bows over it to kiss it.

Then he looks at Mycroft and takes a vow.

“Brother mine, I vow that I will keep the three of you safe come hell or high water. Please keep Anthea here as _Andrew_ , your page and we will find a way to make things right when the time comes.”

***************************

Greg, John and Sherlock are very quiet on the ride back. There is something coming their way and they need to all be prepared for the worst.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends! Once more! ………..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Just discovered this amazing collection of transcripts by Ariane De Vere https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/86813.html
> 
> • “What we call premonition is just movement of the web. If you could attenuate to every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable, as inevitable as mathematics.” The Six Thatchers, Sherlock, BBC
> 
> • “Life is short, and we have never too much time for gladdening the hearts of those who are travelling the dark journey with us. Oh, be swift to love, make haste to be kind!” -- Henri Frederic Amiel, Journal
> 
> • “Doctrine of reincarnation is neither absurd nor useless. It is not more surprising to be born twice than once." Voltaire
> 
> • The wild horse dilemma is what is well known as the ‘Trolley Dilemma’. But trolleys didn’t exist in the 16th century hence the adaptation to horses! http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-3528470/Would-kill-one-person-save-five-answer-moral-dilemma-determine-people-trust-you.html


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Irene is a spy. The King is poisoned. Molly is to be wed again. Things fall apart. The centre cannot hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it has gotten so dark but this was the fate of many in those days and no one good was spared ! There is some kind of light at the end of the tunnel. Trust me !

Unknown to all of them, even as they are planning to spy on Prince James Moriarty, he has had a spy inside the ladies- in- waiting for a few months now.

Lady Irene informs the Prince later that week that the Queen is pregnant and if she produces an heir then he will be even further down the line of succession.

The time to act was NOW.

So the die is cast and a few days later, the spider spins a vicious web and everyone gets caught.

*******************************

The Queen is now nearing six months of pregnancy and has had to reduce her travels outside the Palace due to the swelling in her feet. So finally one day Martha Hudson is called over for help and Mycroft says again that her brews work like magick.

She is glad to be of help but she has felt some evil vibes while at the Palace and as she returns to Baker Street she cannot get rid of this deep sense of foreboding.

A storm is coming and they are going to be swept away in its path like so many autumn leaves.

She thinks of all those who are meant to be under her protection and Sherlock is the first and most important one.

She needs to keep him safe but if the forces are beyond her control, she needs to spare him pain and suffering.

****************************

So, as soon as she gets back she sets about making sure first of all that Lucy will be taken care of. She sets aside some gold coins, letters of introduction, a small journal with her brews and potions chemical and recipes written in her spidery handwriting. She sends it all to Billy for safe keeping to be handed over to Lucy when the time is safe.

She then fills a small vial with Hemlock and wonders if she can wait for a few days to hand it over.

The thought of what it was meant to do fills her with dread but if there is anything she can do to spare her boy some pain when he falls upon bad times, she will do it.

So she goes upstairs to give it to Sherlock. He looks at her face and at the vial and he knows that something is amiss.

“What is it?” he asks softly.

He knows that this wise woman he respects and even loves like a mother is able to see even further than he can with his starscope.

He can only plot planetary motions and deduce what can be measured.

She can look into the depths of black hearts and the darkest of skies and tell of what is yet to come.

“This is Hemlock”, she smiles at him, sadly. “The last thing that Socrates drank, when the citizens of his own country voted to punish him for telling the truth. It is a heavy price to pay but…”she trails off.

“When Truth is your God there is no choice.” completes Sherlock. He smiles too. “Hemlock for Sherlock. Poetic justice?”

She comes closer and gives him a hug for the first and perhaps last time.

“Stay safe my boy” she says and swifts turns away.

Sherlock closes his eyes. He does not know what is happening and what they are preparing for exactly but he knows that a countdown of some kind has begun.

_They are all spiralling towards the endgame._

******************************

He needs to start putting things in order too. Starting with John, then Molly, and his Work.

He wonders briefly if he can do anything for Martha Hudson. After all he always jokes with her that _if Martha Hudson is gone then London will fall._ He gives a wry smile at that.

_If Martha is giving him hemlock then London is probably about to fall._

He starts gathering his papers and charts about the Sun and the planets and puts them together into a bundle and wraps them in a leather folder which he then ties in an old cloth, to make it look as innocuous as possible.

He needs to get a message to John so he finds a copy of the Bible and starts to write on the margins and fills up close to 20 pages by sunset. He sends a message for Charlie and hands the Bible to him and asks him to make sure that if anything happened to him Charlie must make sure it reaches John but not before.

William has been out at the public house drinking ale with friends and when he comes home Sherlock greets him.

“Oh William! Our wills and fates do so contrary run! Men at some times are masters of their fate but the fault lies not in our stars but in ourselves that we are underlings. I must say my farewell to thee and pray that if the wheels of time are fortunate, we may cross our paths again. If not, fare thee well and may success and fortune smile upon your plays.”

He then packs his own bags and goes in disguise to Fournier Commons where Anthea had looked after him when he first came.

William just stares after him open mouthed and then quickly scribbles in his journal before he can forget.

************************************

Meanwhile at the Palace, ever since Lady Irene has heard Mycroft say that Martha Hudson’s potions are like magick she has been spinning an elaborate scheme.

She sees a good opportunity to take everything down and destroy not just the King and Queen but also their inner circle so that she and James can take over the throne.

Finally.

So she confers with Prince James and one by one things are set in motion.

****************************

Mycroft is sent to France on the business of the King.

Two days later, the King never wakes up.

************************

There is a rumour that Prince James has murdered the King by pouring poison in his ear but no one dares speak it out loud or confront him of course.

Prince James makes a tearful declaration in the court of his love for his beloved brother and what a wonderful King he was and how his heart is filled with sorrow.

He goes on to say that since Queen Anne is pregnant and unwell he is going to take over the Throne for now. But he plans to marry the Widow Queen so as to make sure that her child will be the next King and that the people will be ruled by the heir of good King Henry.

It is utterly impossible for anyone in the court to oppose this suggestion and so the bereaved and terrified Molly is to be prepared for a wedding.

She runs through every possible scenario in her mind and none of them result in all three of them emerging alive.

It is even possible that none of them will survive.

She sits in the library unable to even weep at what is to come. She knows that she dare not hope for Mycroft to ever return to this country at all. But she does write him a letter. She hides it inside her journal of herbs and hopes that someday somehow it will reach him. It is a love letter and a farewell letter and it breaks her heart into such pieces to write it that she is sure there is nothing left in its place anymore.

Just ashes of rose. Tears and crushed dreams.

But she is Molly. She is the Queen.

So she gathers her courage and manages to write another letter, this time to Sherlock and hands it over to Anthea to be sent across as soon as she is able to.

*******************************

When the news of the proposed marriage reaches Sherlock through the informant network, he is shell shocked. He knows that Mycroft is not in the country and John cannot really help. So he attempts to reach Gregory but is told that Gregory has been called to the Palace and not returned yet.

He goes into a frenzy of distress. His world is coming crashing around his ears. His soulmate is suffering and he is helpless.

Molly with Jim??!!

He feels almost deranged at the thought.

He forces himself to calm down and THINK.

The first thing he does when he calms down is to send an urgent message to Mycroft to NOT return or his life will be in danger. He reminds him of his own vow and assures him that he will keep Molly safe.

He meets Harry who is part of the homeless irregulars at the Fournier Commons and hands over his scientific scrolls and bundles and gives him instructions that if Sherlock ever disappeared he had to make sure these pages made their way to Shakespeare or John or Greg.

He is then awake almost all night gathering information from all the homeless and the spies but not many useful facts are made available.

*********************************

When London awakens the next morning things have gotten worse.

So much worse.

**********************************

The new King James declares that the Queen has been using magick potions brewed by a Witch so she could drop the baby. The late beloved good King Henry’s baby.

So they would capture the Witch who helped her and burn her at the stake.

Martha Hudson has been expecting this. Not the way she would have liked to go, but this is the script written for this life and she has to play her part.

By the afternoon Martha has been captured and burnt alive at the stake in a public square.

Despite all the forebodings and the feeling of doom, when Sherlock hears this news his brain goes so numb he fears he may never quite recover from the agony.

This is truly the endgame.

London will fall.

NO he whispers angrily.

_London will BURN._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Hamlet’s father is murdered by poison poured in his ear by his Uncle who then marries his brother’s widow.
> 
> • 'Our wills and fates do so contrary run'. Hamlet.
> 
> • 'Men at some times are masters of their fate but the fault lies not in our stars but in ourselves that we are underlings'. Julius Caesar.
> 
> • It is estimated that close to 50,000 women were burnt at the stake as ‘witches’ during the 17th century in England and Europe.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just re-read this story and found that due to mis-numbering, this chapter had gone missing !! Sorry to those who read it earlier :( but here it is now....

Although the people of London were used to hangings and beheadings and witch hunts and a lot of brutal violence, Martha Hudson had been a very well-liked healer and many were stunned and terrified at what had happened.

Before people could recover from it, King James makes another announcement the very next day.

It almost felt like he is playing a Game and enjoying every cruel bit as he unleashed terror on the ordinary folks and their boring lives.

He declared that the act of trying to drop the baby was high treason and the Queen should be beheaded for it.

The very next day.

The public was welcome to view it of course.                       

The Queen was truly loved by her people and they were in a state of absolute panic. Most people wept in private but no one had the courage to speak against it openly.

Meanwhile Sherlock heard this new piece of devastation and almost passed out from the overwhelming shock of it all. He suddenly saw a vision of a castle in the sea and there was a coffin in front of him. Somehow he knew it was meant for Molly. He saw himself so enraged that he smashed it to smithereens with his bare hands.

He shook himself out of this vision and looked around wildly but there is no one there.

He is alone.

He is the only one who can save Molly.

THINK. He tells himself.

THINK.

He sat with his fingers steepled under his chin and five minutes later he has managed to think through at least 13 scenarios and planned to work on 2.

He calls them code name Lazarus and Lucifer.

He now uses every possible contact among the homeless and the spies so that he can reach out to the person in charge of the guillotine to be used for the beheading.

He is now working without any rest or sleep because the town crier has announced that the beheading will take place in two days.

Since many people at the Palace are still loyal to the dead King Henry and have always liked Queen Anne, they have agreed to work with Sherlock for plan Lucifer (arranging a substitution for Molly on the morning of the beheading) and if that does not work then plan Lazarus (where they will use the trick guillotine where blade of a guillotine passes through a person's neck without harming them).

Sherlock rigs up the trick guillotine and tries it on himself many time till he is satisfied that it works.

He then sends a message to Anthea to let Molly know that she will be spirited away and a substitute will take her place.

In case that fails the guillotine is a trick one.

******************************

Of course as fate would have it, his message crosses the one sent to him from Molly.

******************************

He reads Molly’s note telling him that the soul is eternal and not to mourn her body. It is a cloak that she is discarding. She is sure to meet him again in every lifetime and he should focus in this one on solving crimes and bringing justice to those suffering and harmed.

She asks him to let Mycroft know that she her love for him is stronger than any force in the universe and she is only sorry that she could not save the baby.

_We all have some experience of a feeling, that comes over us occasionally, of what we are saying and doing having been said and done before, in a remote time - of our having been surrounded, dim ages ago, by the same faces, objects, and circumstances._

Sherlock has just such a feeling and he collapses on the floor.

He has no strength left him anymore.

He is alone.

All alone.

Martha Hudson has gone. Mycroft is away. He has not been able to reach John or Greg and now Molly……..He cannot manage this alone.

_Alone will never be an option._

He has no will to live if he is going to be alone.

_Never alone._

“Oh, John.” He whispers. “I am so sorry.”

And then as though John is right next to him, he hears his voice, faint but clear.

“It’s just a magick trick Sherlock. Maybe it is just a trick.”

 _Yes!!_ he thinks suddenly. Of course. _Always something I miss. Maybe she was forced to send me this letter! Maybe things will work out as per my plan tomorrow. I have to wait till tomorrow. I have to not give up hope. I cannot abandon her in a time like this!_

********************************

Despite himself Sherlock falls into an exhausted and uneasy sleep and wakes up at dawn to find Harry and Charlie hovering near the door.

He cannot go anywhere close to the beheading grounds for fear of being recognized but he sends them both to bring Molly back if the plans works as it is supposed to.

And then the man who does not believe in God or fate or anything out of his control and measurements begs and pleads with all the old gods and new and every force in the Universe to save his Molly.

He offers up his own life in return and he bargains and prays and his eyes are in agony from holding back unshed tears.

******************************

Finally at high noon he hears some arrivals and someone stands in the room wearing a cloak and when she removes her veil, it is Molly! She is safe.

When Sherlock sees her he falls to his knees in front of her and wraps his arms around her waist and they both weep and weep till they have no tears left.

When he has stopped crying he makes her sit and Harry makes sure she has food and ale and that she can rest her feet.

She looks at Sherlock and says “I have no words for how to thank you. If it were not for you today…….”and she rubs her hand over her stomach and goes pale.

Sherlock takes her hand and kisses it and says “My Queen, it was my duty and my vow. But why do I feel that it is in fact you who will save my life and offer me a safe house in every lifetime?”

“Oh Sherlock”, says Molly. “I should consider myself lucky if my life is of value to save one such as yours. Always and in every lifetime _tell me what you need_ and it shall be offered.

And then after these sweet and poignant vows and declarations, Sherlock arranged for her to be sent off at once, quickly and quietly on a journey which will end in France where Mycroft can meet her and keep her safe.

Molly begs Sherlock to come with her but he just looks at her and says “John” and she knows that this may be the last time they meet in this lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Anne Boleyn (c. 1501 – 19 May 1536) was Queen of England from 1533 to 1536 as the second wife of King Henry VIII. Henry's marriage to her, and her subsequent execution by beheading, made her a key figure in the political and religious upheaval that was the start of the English Reformation.  
> • Executions were often public events and for the beheading of Anne Boleyn an executioner was brought in especially from France for his skills. Public executions were Elizabethan Londoners’ most popular spectator activity. Londoners had a choice among the different kinds of executions: they could go to Tower Hill where the upper class condemned were beheaded with a broadsword or axe or head to Tyburn or Smithfield to see some hangings of ordinary traitors and common criminals. There were about a thousand hangings a year.  
> • https://tudorstuff.wordpress.com/2009/03/30/tudor-justice-the-horrors-of-execution/  
> • Lazarus was the man Jesus raised from the dead  
> • Lucifer was an Angel who was banished to Hell.  
> • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guillotine_(magic_trick) The Guillotine is a magic trick where it appears that a blade of a guillotine passes through a person's neck without harming them. Variations on the theme have been performed for hundreds of years, with documented examples appearing in print in the 16th century. http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/movies/la-ca-mn-now-you-see-me-decapitation-20160424-snap-htmlstory.html
> 
> • A bit of a Thomas Hardy-esque twist where the crucial letter ALWAYS goes missing or falls in the wrong hands…  
> • ‘We all have some experience of a feeling, that comes over us occasionally, of what we are saying and doing having been said and done before, in a remote time - of our having been surrounded, dim ages ago, by the same faces, objects, and circumstances.’ Charles Dickens


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steel your heart. Seriously. It’s a valar morghulis chapter. My muse seems to be channelling George RR Martin. Worse than the Red Wedding. You have been warned !

King James Moriarty is furious when he realizes the switch. His rage knows no bounds and everyone in the Palace is shivering with terror as he unleashes his anger on everyone in front of him.

He realizes that this must have been done by the inner circle of course and he orders the Custodian to arrest Sherlock and bring him to the Palace.

Greg has been confined to the Palace since the day the King died and he has been seething with helplessness as he watches things unravel. He knows that Mycroft is not in the country and he has no idea what has happened to Sherlock or John. He can only pray that somehow they have found a way to save Molly.

Anthea has looked in on him once but never said a word. He can see the steely resolve in her eyes though and he also knows that this is the endgame.

When Greg is ordered to find Sherlock and arrest him, he refuses.

King James is in no mood for arguments and he orders his own man Philip Anderson to arrest Gregory and have him pilloried in the public square.

Anthea managed to get the message to Sherlock and now with Molly safely out of the way he has to see what he can do to save Greg. He goes there in disguise to try and save him but he is simply unable to.

Even with many people against the King, there will always be those who stray on the side of evil. Either because it is too hard to stand up for the truth or because they have too much to lose by opposing.

Sometimes it is just as simple as the fact that humans are basically cruel at heart and watching someone else suffer means that you are on the other side and safe. At least for now..

They are too many and he has no one who has the power to help.

He saw Greg being tied to the post and tortured for hours until finally the body sags and it is all over. Greg has not cried out even once through all the pain but Sherlock’s mind is screaming in agony. Every lashing feels as though it is on his own back and he cannot decide if he should stay to try and see what he can do to help or he should leave because even watching this will kill him.

Eventually he just stood, one more face among the baying crowd, paralyzed by anger and despair. He wondered what was the use of his starscope and his experiments and being able to explain to these people that the Earth goes around the sun.

Were they deserving of even being called humans? Surely even animals did not wreck such brutality on each other?

It was as though a dark shadow had fallen on all the hearts and threatened to consume every fibre of humanity.

Or was it that the darkness was always there and the new King had merely given access to it? Perhaps the line between good and evil cuts through every human heart.

That evening a bone weary and world weary man returned to Fournier Commons.

************************

As he had expected the Palace guards eventually find their way to the Commons in search of him. They arrived the next morning and start hitting people in the crowd and threatening them unless they revealed Sherlock’s whereabouts.

He tried to remain hidden but then they start hauling children out.

“Stop it!” he thundered. “I am here. Leave them alone.”

The guards tossed the children aside and hauled him off.

Harry and Charlie see him being taken and waited till the evening when it would be safer.

**************************************

John has been put under solitary confinement by the High Priest from the very day the King died and he has absolutely no idea of what has been going on. He has been angry and frustrated and desperate for news of Sherlock but something has gone wrong and even Mike has not come to see him or sent a message and all John can do is cry and pray. He has never prayed more ardently than he does on these days and he has never felt so helpless in his entire life.

There is nothing he can do to help anyone or even himself right now.

All he can do is wait.

That evening there is some shuffling outside his cell and he gets up in hope. Somehow Charlie has managed to sneak in and while he does not say a word, he hands over a Bible to him and sneaks out again right away.

John takes the Bible and is very puzzled. But he goes over to the candlelight and rifles through the pages. As he does so, a looping handwriting catches his eye.

Sherlock has written messages in the margins!

His heart leaps up as he starts to read.

 

_“One day you will ask me which is more important. My life or yours?_

_I will say mine and you will walk away not knowing that you are my life.”_

 

This shakes him to the very core.

_What is this supposed to mean? What has happened?_

He flips the pages and finds one more poem

_“No longer mourn for me when I am dead than you shall hear the surly sullen bell give warning to the world that I am fled from this vile world with vilest worms to dwell: nay, if you read this line, remember not the hand that writ it, for I love you so, that I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, if thinking on me then should make you woe.”_

He is utterly devastated now and cannot read any more for the weeping.

What does this mean? What has happened?

Later he finds a folded paper with the same looping handwriting and he knows that the time has come.

***************************

Harry has taken the leather bag and gone to 221B, only to find it empty. William and Lucy seemed to have made their escape. Harry sits there wondering what to do with the bag now that even Greg is gone and he cannot access John. He hides it inside the flat as best he can and leaves.

***************************

Sherlock has now been taken prisoner and King James takes great pleasure in watching him being tortured.

“This is the genius who wants to tell the world that _God does not exist_ and that the _Earth goes around the Sun_? Hello Sir Boast-a-Lot? I don’t _believe_ Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories. He’s just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good. He also commits sin by laying with another man. Let us see what he has to say for himself!”

So the inquisition starts.

Do you believe in God?

_As much as I believe in fairies._

Do you believe that man loving a man is a sin?

_I believe in Love and not the label of the body_

Do you believe that the Sun goes around the Earth ?

_Don’t be an idiot._

After two days of this relentless torture he has been thrown into the courtyard. His eyes are almost swollen shut and his entire body is in pain but he sees a familiar shape.

_Is he seeing visions?_

“John!” he says, reaching out his hands.

The soldiers laughed at him and said “Stay away from him you filthy bugger. He has recanted so you would be released. He will stay in life imprisonment as his punishment.”

John is staring in horror and dismay at what has happened to Sherlock and he struggles frantically to reach him as the guards hold him back and snigger.

Just then King James swaggers by and rolls his neck and looks at John and laughs.

“Did you really trust me to keep my word John? You must be stupider than you look.”

He turns to Sherlock and tells the guards, “Take him away and _burn the heart out of him._ Let’s make ourselves a lovely bonfire.”

“NOOOOOOO!!” shouted John as they dragged him back to his cell.

**********************************

As they prepared to put him in the bonfire, Sherlock took advantage of the momentary distraction and managed to reach the vial around his neck.

He took a last look at John and drank the hemlock.

He was dead before the first flames reached his body.

********************************

John felt the exact moment that he died and fell down crying.

When he finally stopped, hollow and empty, he begged to be allowed to pray in the St Bartholomew’s Tower for his salvation.

The guards did not pay any attention to him but some hours later Brother Michael came by and asked the guard to let him go for his prayers.

John went up to the Tower, looked at the stars and whispered “Sherlock” and jumped.

*******************************

Later when they recovered his body they found a scroll in the pocket of his robe and a poem written in two writings as though it had been written by someone and then copied in again by someone else. One loopy handwriting and one neat.

_This is my sacrament_

_He was my prayer_

_He was all that is holy_

_He was what I worship_

_He was home, he was heaven,_

_He was my sun, moon and stars._

_His heartbeat, his touch, his quiet, his voice, his breath_

_In the sanctuary of his love I heard the chorus of angels and saw the whirling dervish dance_

_He was the fire in my soul and the reason for living_

_Everything is the Beloved, and the lover but a veil;_

_The Beloved is alive, while the lover is dead._

_With my hands raised in prayer_

_To love I surrender_

_He was my absolution and I go to join him_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • “No longer mourn for me when I am dead  
> than you shall hear the surly sullen bell …….”Sonnet 57. William Shakespeare  
> •   
> • Shortly before his death, King Henry re-founded St Bartholomew's Hospital, but most of the large buildings were left unoccupied when he died in 1547  
> •   
> • Thanks to Ariane De Vere for the amazing transcripts https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/31483.html  
> •   
> • The last ‘poem’ was composed by me (yes!) and inspired by these two lines from Rumi-- Only a few sufis have managed to annihilate themselves in the Beloved through the path of such love and friendship. “Everything is the Beloved, and the lover but a veil; The Beloved is alive, while the lover is dead.”  
> •


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft makes a vow. Another Queen is born.

Molly had reached France safely and was now under Mycroft’s protection.

As much as he was overjoyed at seeing her, he knew what a heavy price everyone else has paid in the battle against evil and the loss of the few good men was a heavy burden he would carry all his life and even beyond. He had received the news and he was sure Molly would have guessed but they had not spoken about it.

That very week Molly went into preterm labour due to the stresses and a baby girl was born.

As soon as the baby was cleaned and given to her and she started to give her the first milk she looked at Mycroft and said firmly “My love, please tell me now”.

He understood immediately what she was asking and he sat down and took a deep breath. He opened his mouth to speak but there is no way that his voice can cope with telling her anything of the brutal and cruel end of her soulmate and all those she held dear. He only shakes his head and his eyes tells her that Sherlock is no more. That John is no more. That Martha Hudson is gone. That Greg is no more.

They have all shed the cloak of their bodies in this lifetime.

Molly has been preparing herself for just such news but it is still devastating to have it confirmed and as she starts to weep silently the baby girl drinks her first meal as a mixture of her mother’s milk and her tears.

Perhaps that is what forges her strength.

************************

Mycroft has never forgiven himself for not being in the country and for not being able to do anything to save Sherlock and Greg and Martha.

He is utterly devastated and he takes a vow. “Sherlock, brother mine, I don’t know if there is any truth in your fantastic ideas of a multiple universe and reincarnation but I swear upon all that I love, if there is ever any lifetime in which you are my brother again, I will never ever take my eyes off you. You will never die again on my watch. This is my vow my Queen he says.”

*****************************

Three days later they get the news that Anthea has managed to enter the bedchamber of King James and has killed him as well as Lady Irene. The homeless network has in fact set fire to the Palace and to many parts of London and the Great Fire burns for days.

After this purge, Queen Anne returns to London and rules till her daughter turns 18. At which time she hands over the reins to Queen Elizabeth and goes into a life of seclusion which she spends in writing books on medicine and authors a history on the life and death of witches.

***************************

William Shakespeare marries Lucy and receives Royal Patronage. He goes on  to write close to 40 plays, comedies as well as tragedies and remains the most prolific and well known playwright and bard in the English language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Queen Elizabeth the First really was Henry and Anne’s daughter. 
> 
> • The Great Fire of London engulfed 13,000 houses, nearly 90 churches, and scores of public buildings. The old St. Paul’s Cathedral was destroyed, as were many other historic landmarks. As estimated 100,000 people were left homeless. https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/great-fire-of-london-begins


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock suddenly gets the feeling that the five of them standing here in the Bart’s lab have been together before and it feels as a Rubik’s cube has finally lined up all sides. Like the final colour aligning on every side.
> 
> He thinks he hears someone in his head say “He was my sun, moon and stars.”
> 
> Damn. If only he could remember anything about the solar system. Why had he deleted it anyway??!
> 
> “Afghanistan or Iraq?” he asks.

2006

Mycroft despaired for his younger brother. So brilliant, almost incandescent in his potential, but so out of control and utterly wild. So much rebellion, so much anger and restlessness. Where did it come from?

Grandmere used to say that the baby had been born with an old soul and was probably working out something from a past life. Mycroft had rolled his eyes at that.

_Next she would say someone had cast a spell on him._

‘Oh well’, said his Grandmere tapping the side of her head. “There are more things in this heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

As Mycroft saw Sherlock go from bad to worse, almost careening towards some kind of a cliff, an ending, a fall, he sometimes wondered if she had been right.

**********************************

There was too much information in his brain. Too many facts, too much data, too many jangly things. Too many feelings. He needed to control them all. Especially the _feelings._ They only led to pain.

Too much pain.

When Sherlock first took cocaine the constant buzz in his brain stilled a little and patterns became clearer, sharper. The galaxies receded and left only a few constellations. Sometimes a supernova exploded across the horizon but mostly it was a familiar movement of the stars.

One day as he stumbled across his dealer’s block of apartments, he happened to come across a crime scene. Inside the police tape he saw a man standing with his back to him. Solid, broad shouldered, in command of the scene.

Something made him wait there and watch for him to turn around.

It seemed as though the older man had also felt the same _something_ and he turned around slowly and looked at the young man standing on the edges of his crime scene. Jittery, skinny, dirty even but utterly compelling.

Sherlock looked into his eyes and had this stirring in his soul. He KNEW this man. He was quite sure he had _never_ seen him before but for some reason he _knew_ this man. And with equal certainty he knew that this man would always protect him.

_Wherever he was, there was his safety._

It was no coincidence that he had wandered in here. He did not believe in coincidences. The universe is rarely so lazy.

Of course to hide these feelings that scared him, he behaved rudely with him, deduced both him and the crime scene in rapid fire monologue, almost fell down when he came crashing down from the drugs he had taken and somehow ended up spending the next few nights sleeping on this man’s sofa.

This man who is a Detective Inspector and should by rights have had him locked up in jail for taking drugs and trespassing a crime scene, had instead taken him home, cleaned him up after he was sick, fed him soup and tea and gently put a blanket on him when he almost passed out with exhaustion on his sofa.

Lestrade is his name. Gregory Lestrade. But somehow calling him Gregory makes something twist in his heart. There is something just out of the reach of his conscious brain. Somewhere in his subconscious there is something.

Gratitude? Grief? Sorrow? Torment? Some kind of _feelings_? He does not know.

He knows that this man is a comrade, a rock, a shoulder. But he cannot speak his name because of the pain it causes him in the depths of his heart and mind. The name brings to mind screams of agony. From a horrible hell where good men are tortured. Gut wrenching despair and heart-breaking helplessness.

He shakes his head and deletes the name.

It hurts too much to remember it.

 

 

2008

Sherlock has now become a regular at crime scenes once he managed to keep his promise to Greg to stay clean.

One day he accompanies Greg to the St. Bart’s morgue. A young woman is there doing the autopsy. She turns to look at them removes her mask and says _hello_.

As soon as he looks into her eyes Sherlock feels a punch in his guts and has this intense urge to bow to her. And maybe kiss her hand.

This strange and bizarre feeling staggers him so much that he covers it up by being rude and insufferable but the pathologist just smiles at him gently and goes back to her work.

He _hates_ not being able to understand or control his feelings but there is something about being with her that feels right and he finds himself spending more and more time in the labs in her quiet presence. That almost brings a comfort to his soul.

They do not speak much except to share and agree on the diagnosis once in a while.

Whenever she gets herself a coffee she always gets one for him the way he likes it and keeps it by his side. Black with two sugars.

He never says thank you.

It is a test to see how long she will continue doing this for him without anything in return. She passes with flying colours.

It has been more than a year and she never stops bringing him coffee. If anything she sometimes also leaves a packet of crisps next to it, opened already so he can pretend he just dipped into it absently.

When she hears the first crunch she always smiles, but only to herself.

But he can almost hear her smile even though her back is to him and though he puts a scowl on his face, somewhere deep inside his heart he feels anchored.

 

2010

He is in the lab at St. Bart’s again and Molly and Greg are discussing some details of the case in a corner and Sherlock is working with the microscope.

Sherlock has settled down enough to move to a flat with a wonderful landlady Mrs. Hudson. She behaves as though she has known him forever and although she is only his landlady, she feels like so much more. She keeps him fed and she cleans the flat even though she always grumbles and tells him “I am not your housekeeper dear!”

But he needs a flatmate. Not so much for sharing the rent but because despite his brother’s training, he has this niggling feeling that he does not want to be alone. Something terrible happens when he is alone.

Today as he is working here, Mike Stamford comes in with a stranger. A man using a cane.

“John,” says the stranger. “John Watson” and suddenly Sherlock’s Mind Palace starts running a ticket tape. He has seen this man before. He knows him from somewhere.

John F Kennedy, John Lennon, John the Baptist, John the Apostle, John Snow, John Barrowman, John Gielgud, John Cleese, John McEnroe, John Dalton…….ugh where has he met this John before ?

He looks at John, standing there leaning on a cane, bemused expression on his face and Sherlock suddenly gets the feeling that the five of them standing here in the Bart’s lab have been together before and it feels as a Rubik’s cube has finally lined up all sides. Like the final colour aligning on every side.

Like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Like the last equation in a very complex formula.

It feels strange….as though a missing piece of his soul has found him and he is finally breathing for real.

He thinks he hears someone in his head say “He was my sun, moon and stars.”

_Damn. If only he could remember anything about the solar system. Why had he deleted it anyway??!_

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” he asks.

*******************************

Mycroft has been watching them on CCTV with Anthea by his side and somewhere in his Mind Galaxy something changes orbit, some things align and some things emerge.

He knows that it is time once again for the story of their lives to be told.

In a different age and with different faces.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends! Once more!

The game’s afoot.

_****************************_

(Scene fade out to the music of Stayin’ Alive being played.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more unto the breach dear friends once more! William Shakespeare. (from Henry V, spoken by King Henry).

**Author's Note:**

> • During the 16th century, syphilis was called "great pox" in order to distinguish it from smallpox.  
> • "Hell is Truth Seen Too Late." Thomas Hobbes. He was a 16th century English philosopher who is considered one of the founders of modern political philosophy. He also contributed to a diverse array of other fields, including geometry, the physics of gases, theology and ethics.  
> • The masculine first name Gregory derives from the Latin/ Greek roots and means "watchful, alert" The name is also associated with a shepherd who diligently guides his flock.


End file.
